Just Being Alive
by faceted-mind
Summary: Elrohir lay deathly still, his eyes wide open to the skies and yet absent as though in sleep. Two more still forms lay not far away, both fairhaired. He wondered if either of them were Legolas. No breath stirred either body, no movement or sigh. LasEllEl
1. Chapter One

Just Being Alive… (Soul Cries Out)

By Faceted Mind

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"When your whole world changes, what will it take to keep the things you treasure most?"

Summary - Though still weak from his defeat at the hands of Isildur, Sauron is gathering strength and three of his Nasgûl inhabit Dol Guldur along with his avatar - the Mouth of Sauron. When Legolas and the twins are drawn too close to Dol Guldur they are caught up in his wrath. He is yet too weak to hold them for long and so they are left - wounded and alone - to wander the perilous forests of Mirkwood. They are more resourceful than they are given credit for - but are they good enough?

Genre: Angst/Drama

Pairing: Las/Elr/Ell (established)

Rating: R

Warnings: Torture, Elf-Harm, Rape, Slash&Twincest, Pre-WotR

AN: To Kate Bush for the title and the extract (below). To Sesshyangel for a great Beta. To Tolkien for the world we all know and love to play with. I will say that this is AU, simply to satisfy the nit-pickers out there, though I will not deviate too far from Cannon if I can help it.

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- _Just being alive _

_It can really hurt _

_And these moments given _

_Are a gift from time _

_Just let us try _

_To give these moments back _

_To those we love _

_To those who will survive_

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The outer walls of the Last Homely House were thick, and during the heated summer months there was no better place to sit than at their base in the shadows, breathing in the cooler air. This summer had been unreasonably hot and, only now reaching its peak, even the elves were beginning to feel its intensity as rivers dried and everything began to wither.

It was a mad dash across open fields to reach the outer walls from the cluster of buildings in the centre. It was Elrohir that dove first into that cool bliss, scattering the small animals that had also discovered the cool haven, and rolling elegantly across the short space until he rested up against the wall. Elladan followed him at a more sedate pace, taking a seat beside him.

"Are you ever going to grow up, Elrohir?" Elladan wondered, rolling his eyes at his twin.

"It is too hot here, brother of mine." Elrohir decided, ignoring the question.

"This is the coolest place in the valley, 'Ro! Where would you have us go?"

"Not here, 'Dan. I mean Rivendell. We should travel North, where it will be cooler."

"And by North you would mean…"

"Mirkwood would do."

"Ah, but brother. Some of Mirkwood is South of Rivendell. It is a much larger place than our modest vale."

"No matter, for we will be going to the Northern part." Elrohir replied decisively, his plans already made.

"I see. And who would take us in? It is such an inhospitable place." Elladan wondered, already knowing the answer.

"I can think of one elf, perhaps you know him… He is tall, blond, blue-eyes… he oft carries a bow for he is a great archer…" Elladan laughed at his teasing.

"Aye, I can think of one such elf."

"Do you think Father would let us?" Elrohir asked, reason setting in and uncertainty soon after. "It has been less than a year since we saw him last, and he has always hated our travelling to Mirkwood."

"He has said it himself, 'Ro. His issue is with Thranduil, not us nor anything we might do there."

"And still… he is not completely happy about our arrangement. Or our travels."

"He will have to live with it, then. For me it has been far too long."

"Only a day might be too long in my mind." Elrohir sighed. "We could spend Midsummer's with him."

"They do not celebrate Midsummer's Day, 'Ro. They have some earlier celebration."

"From what I have seen of Legolas' kin, they celebrate every third day."

"True, but if he is on patrol he will have no official respite."

"Then we will have to join him, and make celebrations of our own."

"That sounds like a good plan."

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And so it was that three days later Carangil, horse of Elladan, and Cúdîn, horse of Elrohir, reached the High Pass across the Misty Mountains. The track was usually wind-whipped and harshly cold, but as they approached they found it stiflingly still and scoured of its usual covering of snow by the relentless sun - still blazing even at this height. Summer was truly at its peak, the sun directly overhead as the two travellers sought shelter for their heat-exhausted horses in the sparse trees that had yet to fall away from the roadside. Plans were made for the scaling of the pass later that day, as the sun began to drop from the sky. They would make better time in the cooler part of the day, and they would be able to descend into the valley before full dark. They would rest in the lee of the mountain for the night and be in the arms of the forest before the week was out.

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As they topped the pass the sun was low behind them, stretching their shadows deep and long before them. The shadow of the mountains dulled the colours of the valley, reaching out towards the forest laid bare before them. So vast was Mirkwood that its furthest borders were not visible even to the sharpest of eyes, and here and there it seemed the forest blanched. Shadows too far from the mountain to be part of its gaze gathered around patches of bared land. Trees destroyed by their thousands to cause devastation visible from a great distance.

"I do not remember the devastation being so great." Elrohir murmured to his brother as they gazed out upon the lands of their lover.

"Legolas was with us when we saw it last. Our gaze was not upon the forest."

"But his was. The shadow that was in his eyes bears more meaning now."

"Come, let us find our elf and tell him of our celebration plans." Elladan urged, not wishing to spend any longer looking upon the spreading evil.

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The twins deflated a little when, upon arriving at the Elven-King's gates, it was a guard member that greeted them and not Legolas. He was obviously on patrol somewhere, for it was unlikely that news of their arrival had not filtered through the forest security. The whole palace had probably known the moment they had set foot in the forest.

The guard bowed low. "My Lords. Please, come inside. We have rooms prepared for you, and water heated." Yes, they had definitely known of their coming.

"Friend, we seek only Legolas, we need no pampering." Elladan spoke first.

"Speak for yourself, brother." Elrohir murmured, too softly for the guard to hear.

"He is travelling, you will not find him in these lands." The guard replied elusively.

"Then might we consult with someone who will tell us where we can find him?"

"There is none such save him and his company."

"Not even the King? Or the captain of the guard?"

"His task was a secret one, his company follows no paths through the forest. You will not find him until he returns." A second elf, also in forest-guard colours appeared at the side of the first, this one dark-haired with a face that spoke of constant humour.

"And when, pray, will that be?" Elladan asked, his patience for games wearing thin. The two Mirkwood elves exchanged a glance. It was the dark-haired elf that replied, though his fair-haired companion rewarded him with a sigh of exasperation, as though he had given away some long kept secret.

"They are already a week overdue."

"Come inside." The fair elf asked tersely. "This is no place to talk of such things."

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In only moments they found themselves ensconced in deep chairs in the cool halls of the Elven-King, Thranduil. The two elves had called for food and supplies for their journey and other soldiers had agreed good-humouredly to gather them while they entertained the guests.

"Why would they drive further South? Is it not dangerous?" Elladan asked, impatiently.

"You have answered your own question, My Lord." The dark-haired elf replied. "Our prince joined this company of highly skilled young-ones so that he might be at the forefront of any action. He would not allow himself to be left behind when excitement is being had on our borders."

"He's mad." The fair-haired elf murmured. "Begging your pardons, My Lords." He added, realising who he was speaking to.

"How well we know it." Elladan shared an amused glance with Elrohir.

"Come, brother. Let us go save him before he gets himself into more 'excitement' than he can handle."

"If you would will it, sirs, we would accompany you." The fair-haired elf put in as the twins turned to go.

"We were left behind when our company left on this tour, trapped by the vengeful healer." The dark-haired elf explained with a grimace.

"We were released shortly after their departure, but had no means to seek them out and it is dangerous to travel out as only two."

"We know these trees better than you, and could halve the time it would take you to find them."

"And you could use more sword hands if you are to rescue them from whatever their delay might reveal itself to be."

"Enough, we are convinced." Elrohir laughed at the pair's insistence. It was curious to note that the fact that the twins had travelled through the forest as only a party of two had not been brought up. It was obvious these two were used to arguing with Legolas, or other elves as stubborn as him. "May we know your names, if you are to accompany us?" Elrohir continued. The two serious elves exchanged a glance and laughed unexpectedly.

"Truly it is as Legolas has said, you do not do things as we do here." The dark haired elf spoke with a grin.

"Have I said something wrong?"

"You are Lords, My Lords." The blond elf supplied. "Our names should mean nothing to you."

"But surely Legolas knows your names… you are part of his troupe."

"I cannot think of one time where he has asked, or called us anything more than 'mellon' or 'eledh' when we are as a group."

"How terribly rude." Elrohir shrugged at Elladan.

"Well, regardless. We would know your names."

"I am Daefindir," The dark-haired elf replied, "though a call of Daef is normally enough to get my attention and so will suffice."

"And I am Minastir." The blond replied, a little more uncertainly yet taking courage from his friend's forwardness.

"Though if you find yourself short of time, Mina will do just as well." Daefindir added, to Minastir's disgruntlement.

"My thanks, and I fear we find ourselves short of time already for the day escapes us."

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Wooee, hello again. As always, reviews would be greatly appreciated, as it lets me know who's reading and whether or not your enjoying and whether or not I've made any huge bloopers :D

Speaking of Bloopers… Sorry to anyone who read this before editing, I put up the wrong version of this chapter. Minastir is the Blond guard's name… the other name was discarded shortly before posting.


	2. Chapter Two

AN: I do introduce a female OC here, (along with several male ones, but you don't seem to have so much of an issue with those…) but DON'T PANIC! This character will _not_ be Mary Sue (mostly because she won't be alive much longer) and will _not_ be involved with any of the male characters (because they all seem to be involved with each other).

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Daefindir and Minastir, after spending near a week in the contagiously good-humoured company of Elrond's sons, were beginning to relax a little in the Lords' company. This was of great relief to the twins, who were very much unused to the attention, so unlike the household at Imladris where people served others out of respect, not duty. Even though they had spent much time in Mirkwood over the last few decades, their relationship with Legolas and their own standing meant they were often isolated from the rest of the society. They had had little experience with the peoples of Mirkwood.

They were making their way in haste down the east side of the forest to enter the southern realm of Mirkwood close to Legolas' destination. It would cut days - not to mention several large mountains - off of the journey had they gone through the forest instead, as Legolas and his companions had been expected to. Hopefully, it would allow them to reach the larger group fairly quickly. Of course, it did rely upon finding them, and assuming they had not already begun to make their way back and been caught up somewhere along the way.

Finally reaching the path into the forest - which looked to the twins rather a lot like the rest of the forest: thoroughly impenetrable - they set up camp for their last night out in the open. The days being as long as they were in the summer, they needed no fire to enjoy the evening's soft warmth. Together, they sat upon a cluster of rocks and watched the sky's own dazzling display of multicoloured lights as the horses grazed on the green grasses of the East Bight.

"What were they doing down here, Daef?" Elladan finally posed the question that both brothers had pondered for the duration their journey thus far. "What was their task?"

"They were sent as spies on Dol Guldur." Two identical inhalations were drawn and held. "We have heard rumblings from the darkling tower these last few months. Orcs and spiders roam more freely than ever before, and Our King is too proud to call the Grey One back so soon."

"Daef, watch your words." Minastir spoke sharply.

"Tell me it is not true, Mina, and I will not say it again." The retort held echoes of an argument long unsettled. "We hear rumours of Sauron in Mordor once more, we would know what now inhabits the tower."

"So he sends his only son?" cried a twin in an incredulous voice. "It is lunacy! Though I would speak no disrespect against your King, Mina, surely even you can see this?"

"Our King has no say over which troupe will be chosen for the missions he subscribes. I think, even if he did, he would not know if Our Prince was with them, for he has refused to acknowledge Legolas' actions as one of his guard. He feels it lowers him somehow."

"And that _is_ lunacy, in my opinion." Daefindir added with a snort of derision.

"There I have no objection. In many things I cannot know the mind of my King. The Prince was given permission to join one of the most highly skilled companies the Woodland has - not through his position or standing, but because he is the best archer we have."

"How many is in your company?" Elrohir asked. This was time the first the soldiers had talked freely about their missing companions.

"There are five missing, including Legolas - we two make seven over-all; the best the Mirkwood realm has to offer." Minastir declared proudly, blushing suddenly as he realised how conceited he had sounded.

"And all of us under one thousand, this being most vexing to our elders." Daefindir grinned widely.

"We were born in a time of conflict, we have been trained to it all of our lives." Minastir replied softly, a truth not often spoken amongst those of Mirkwood, who would not have had their children so fraught with the conflict of their land. On this sobering thought, the four quieted for a moment.

"What are your skills then, if you have been picked out?" Elladan asked curiously, bringing them back out of introspection.

"Mina is the best swordsman in all of Mirkwood, I the second." Daefindir answered, becoming animated at the thought of his friends. "Legolas is the best archer by far, though the youngest of our company at only 300 and a few more years; Túrith is the best with his knives, and quite handy with the bow when needs call; Baranir is the best horseman I know, save the horse-master of the halls who is too comfy to leave his warm hayloft; Elanor is a tracker of awing skill, as good in the trees as she is on the ground; Dîngor is a great strategist, and he leads all of our advances. And that is our whole, save one or two who join us when there is some skill needed that we do not possess, and that is not often."

"If we may ask, My Lords…" Minastir trailed off, his courage disappearing with the end of Daefindir's enthusiastic roster.

"You may ask whatever you like." Elrohir spoke with a grin. "Though whether or not we answer will depend on the question."

"Will you tell us of your home? Our Prince speaks of you often, but it seems more often than not you accompany him here after only a short time over the Mountains, and he says little of the Last Homely House or its people."

"I was led to believe it is a taboo subject amongst your people, through your King's rulings, along with the speaking of Quenya." Elladan asked, his own curiosity speaking up.

"Within the Kingdom, that is true, but we are far from Our Kings ears here, and cannot offend him with our curiosity." Daefindir supplied, a look of pride in his eyes. He had not believed Minastir had it in him, though he had known him to be curious.

"Then let us tell you what we may to quench your curiosity. Firstly, it is through no fault of our home that Legolas spends so little time there. He feels his duties are always first to the people of Mirkwood, and hates to leave for extended periods during this time of unrest. Rivendell is still relatively untouched by the shadow, and so we are often free to roam - indeed encouraged to, for it saves our mentors the stresses of our company…" And so talk continued long into the night as the twins described all the aspects they cared to reveal of their peaceful home and their own positions in it.

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Dawn the next morning was misty as the clouds clung low to the ground. It boded for a hot day to follow, and the twins agreed they were quite glad that they would be under the cool shade of the trees before the sun reached its zenith.

They were surprised to find that, despite the almost invisible nature of the path into the trees, it was quite easy to ride the horses in, if one was wary of low branches. They rode for several hours, slowly feeling the air become more oppressive as they travelled. Though reason told them it was simply the air becoming hotter at they neared noon, it brought hairs on their neck to attention and soon they were jumping at shadows, and the horses along with them. Coming to a trickle of a brook across their path, the two Wood elves dismounted and gestured for the other two to follow suit.  
"We go deeper into the forest now; the horses cannot follow." Daefindir explained, his voice low. "There is a floodplain at the other end of this path, on the west side of the forest where they may graze there until we return. They will probably find the other horses there if the company have not already started making their way north again. They will be safe." Shouldering their packs, Elrohir turned to Cúdîn and grasped his chin to get his attention back from the shadowy trees.

"Go, my friend. Await us on the riverside, out of this perilous forest." Snorting his agreement, the grey horse turned and followed his red-coated companion, happy to be away from the darkling trees. They hopped over the stream elegantly and continued along the path after the two Mirkwood horses, both black as the night.

"They will be fine, My Lords. We must keep moving now, we are not in safe lands any longer." With a nod and one final glance back to where the horses had already disappeared into the dense foliage, they pushed on further south.

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The four horses were nearing the borders of the forest - the trees beginning to thin around them - when Carangil stopped suddenly, snorting at the air with wide rolling eyes. Cúdîn nudged him, sensing his companion's fear and wanting to get out of the darkling forest as quickly as possible.

Turning from the path and delving deeper into the trees, Carangil disappeared into the foliage. After a moment's indecision, Cúdîn followed. The two Mirkwood horses, knowing a little better what threats lingered deep in those trees, hesitated a while longer before herd instincts kicked in and they turned into the trees themselves.

Carangil's cry of panic drew the Mirkwood horses on urgently, and they skidded to a stop when they came across Cúdîn and Carangil nuzzling the still form of a horse, near buried in leaf fall. The leaves here had fallen early here; cursed by the evil that seeped into their very roots. The horse's coat was dark chestnut, but the scent Carangil had caught had been blood. Patches of the stallion's skin were stained a darker brown where his blood had been spilled. All four horses knew this one, a frequent visitor to Rivendell and a citizen of Mirkwood, he was the mount of Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, and Seregon was his name.

Cúdîn spooked wildly at a movement in the trees, something catching his eye. It was Carangil that moved forward first, with a black shadow. Pushing through the trees they found another horse. This one was still standing, though how was a good question for he seemed on his last legs and his breathing was laboured and hoarse. Moving closer, Daefindir's horse, Lindi snuffled at the newcomer, taking a step back as she found the scent of orcs strong on this one. The horse gave a sigh and collapsed, his message finally communicated. Lindi looked up at the others when he made no further move, and the same look of wide-eyed panic was mirrored in all of their eyes. In unison, as though some unspoken agreement had been made, all four began a mad dash to the edge of the forest where they split up, the Mirkwood horses heading north and the Imladris horses veering to the north-west - towards the mountains and Imladris. The message had to be taken home.

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Jedi-Bant: Sorry, this _is_ a little different to my other fics, because I tend to like jumping straight into the angst, but sometimes people like action which means something _before_ the angst. It's a concept I'm not too familiar with myself, so I hope you can be patient with me. Thanks also for the Imperfection review; this will not be quite so sad, I hope.

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LadyJanelly: Glad you liked it. Daef and Mina were characters that completely fell out of the box pre-formed, and that's a special thing, so I hope to keep them around for a while.  
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Sesshyangel: Sorry darling, you weren't. But you got to read it before anyone else anyway :p You cant have everything. LOL. Thanks a bundle for the beta.

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Blaise: Aren't we a strange groups of people that can see our favourite characters in mortal peril and celebrate. Hehe… Yes, you guessed it, angst coming right up, v. soon.

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Gemini969: Here you go! Thanks for the review.


	3. Chapter Three

Elrohir halted their progress with a hand held high – all talk suspended as they passed through the most dangerous territory in all of Mirkwood. He bent to examine the tracks they had come across, following their path south towards Dol Guldur.

"Twenty orcs came by here, some wounded." Elrohir told the others, glancing to Elladan for confirmation, their tracking experience garnered from years with the rangers taking over. A nod told him they were in agreement as always.

"We cannot risk following them directly south and coming up against their rearguard. We should travel south parallel to their path." Daefindir suggested.

"Who could they have fought to leave such a large number with wounded?" Minastir asked, his voice uncertain and laced with fear. "The company were ordered not to confront them; they were to spy only." None of them cared to reply, though the answer seemed obvious to them all and said nothing good about the safety of their friends. Crossing the trail with feet that left no prints in the mud, they returned to the cover of the trees on the other side.

"Do we assume they are captured? It is not like the orcs to take prisoners…" Elrohir tried to voice his concerns.

"When the Necromancer dwelt in Dol Guldur he would often take elves prisoner… though this has not been the case throughout the watchful peace." Minastir's lips tightened into a grim line, before continuing darkly. "Something tells me we are not in times of peace any more. There seems to be some greater power than just orcs in Dol Guldur." He sighed. "If they are not with the fell beasts, then we must assume that all we can do is follow the loathsome creatures and avenge our comrades, for they will not be alive." Swallowing down the lump the thought brought to his throat, Elrohir nodded and followed Daefindir as they moved on.

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They came across the orcs at dawn on the second day – moving more quickly as they were through the forest. From the trees they watched them search for an appropriate camp to hide out the day. Elladan grasped at Elrohir's wrist for support as they had their first confirmation that Legolas and his troupe had been captured.

The five were chained together by wrists and ankles, and all looked as though they had taken a severe beating to ensure their docility in capture. One blond elf was collapsed against another with a darker mane, looking more like he was being carried than carrying himself. The elleth was stood tall in the middle of the group, though she hugged a broken arm to herself with pain that she couldn't hide in her eyes. This pulled the wrist-chains of the elf behind her tight, and he offered his arms to her to allow her the room. Behind him a golden head rested on his shoulder, moving under his own steam, but obviously in need of stabilisation. As he looked up, the twins caught their breath, for Legolas – it was he – seemed to look directly at them. A thick trail of blood ran down from his hairline, smudged wildly across his face to clear it from his eyes, though from the way his pupils roved wildly, Elrohir suspected his sight was still less than crystal. He looked heavily concussed.

The phrase 'so near and yet so far' had never held so much meaning for Elladan and Elrohir as on this day, watching as their dazed lover was dragged into the camp and the others thrown on top of him – the unlucky bottom. Elanor cried out as the Elf carrying the now unconscious blond was unable to keep his balance due to the combined burden of the dead weight and the harsh tug on the chain, causing him to back into her. As they shifted into a seating arrangement that did not involve sitting on one another, it was revealed that the elf that had been offering Legolas balance was bleeding heavily from a wound in his stomach. Elanor quickly pressed her uninjured arm to the wound, calling on Legolas to help her suppress the bleeding. The blond elf looked at her, confused, and she patiently grasped hold of first one hand, then the other to lay them down over the wound, and held the pressure with her own.

Two guards were set, though they had grumbled at their task, and growled the prisoners into silence. All five had cringed back, none mistaking the threat and none strong enough to make a stand.

Elrohir turned at the sound of a soft sigh behind him; a gesture from Elladan called him away into the trees.

"We need to act soon, and quickly. Dingor needs treatment, and I couldn't make out what ails Baranir." Daefindir said bluntly, fidgeting uncharacteristically in his desperation to act.

"There was a large tree to the north of where they have set up camp. An archer placed there could draw their fire while the groundsmen make their move, while not being too far away to join us when the fighting begins and arrows run short." Minastir replied, already formulating a plan and taking command, the most experienced of their diminished group in this kind of combat.

"We cannot count on any help from the captives. We must be able to remove them from the fighting, else they will be used against us."

"A second must be prepared to lead them away." Minastir confirmed.

"You plan this as though you still have seven elves at your back. There are only four of us - to remove two of us only leaves two to fight twenty orcs." Elladan objected.

"There are as many of us as there are. We will do what we can for our friends."

"But…"

"I am the better archer of us two." Elrohir interrupted Elladan. He had noted that neither of the Mirkwood warriors carried bows, so they were relying upon one of them to provide their cover. Elladan did not object to his words, this was a rescue and there was no place for pride here.

"They would respond better to rescue from someone they all know and trust." Elladan suggested; his objections overruled for the time being.

"I will lead them away." Daefindir spoke up, obviously reluctant. "I know a little of the healing arts, it will be for the best."

"Then it is settled. We wait for Elrohir to begin, and attack while their attention is drawn."

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Elrohir settled into the solid bough, arranging his quiver so that nothing caught on it and ensuring he could draw easily. Checking his sight into the camp, Elrohir picked out the two orcs standing guard, grumbling to each other as the day took hold and the heat began to rise. These would be his first targets, the aim to take them both as close to each other as possible so that one couldn't alert the other and wake the camp. He knew the attack would start on his move, and so he took a moment to prepare himself, setting up his draw and pulling the first arrow to his bow.

Letting out all of the air from his lungs, Elrohir brought his focus in to bear on the right-hand orc, the closer to the camp. A twitch of a muscle was the release, and the second arrow was in his fingers and on the string. It was only bad luck that caused Baranir to return to consciousness and begin coughing at that moment, drawing Elrohir's attention only long enough for the second orc to realise his companion was silent and call out a warning as the second arrow struck his chest.

Eighteen orcs leapt to their feet and before he knew it Elrohir was firing into a crowd, every shot hitting simply because there was no space for them to miss. He heard his brother's battle cry as he and Minastir dived into the fray, but spared them no attention as he worked his way through his quiver. When a dozen store of arrows were spent, there were still enough orcs to be causing trouble for Elladan and Minastir, some returning to the fight with arrows protruding from their armour and clothing. Elrohir was preparing to drop from the tree to rejoin them when Elladan's cry rang out through the clearing, a solid blow to the back of his head from an orc-sword hilt dropping him cleanly. Minastir was suddenly fighting five orcs on his own, and there was no sign of Daefindir. Elrohir leapt from the tree, running almost before he had landed, and was into the fray in moments.

But not quick enough.

Minastir fell, impaled upon an orc-spear, his eyes on Elrohir's as he dropped, shuttering closed as he impacted the ground. His own battle cry on his lips, Elrohir stormed through the orcs, his sword ripping left and right before he had even realised he had drawn it. He was just in time to see reinforcements arrive, but not for their side. Orcs swarmed into the clearing, swamping everything. A strong arm from behind him knocked him head-over heels to the ground, and a metal-booted foot pressed down upon his ribs from behind. Elrohir pushed sideways to find air, and found himself face to face with Daefindir, knocked down before he could even reach the others. Elanor had claimed his knife, and Turith his sword before they too had been halted in their tracks, an orc holding each of them down; the others either too injured or unconscious to mount any type of aid.

They were defeated.

Well and truly.

It was Elrohir's last thought before everything went black.


	4. Chapter Four

AN: In my mind the image of the Mouth of Sauron was not as Peter Jackson suggested, some disgusting, blind, mutilated thing not so easily differentiated from an orc. (this is the only thing I have ever disagreed with his vision on) In my mind he is simply a man, and a symbol of the evil of which all men are capable when offered power. The power of Sauron has kept him alive a lot longer than men should live, and so perhaps he is not a young man, nor a particularly handsome one (evil can destroy the beauty in anyone) But he is still a man.

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_Italics_ are words spoken from a distance, 'single quotes' are words spoken in the mind, "double quotes" are normal speech.

You probably could have worked that out on your own, but just to clarify…

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Oh, and because this chapter ends with the most fabulous bribery material… Review please? Or I might suffer from review-withdrawal and not be able to type through the shivering.

Read on… Mwahaha… (where did THAT come from?)

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To wake in a cold dark cell with no window to speak of and a door that looks unreasonably solid is possibly one of the worst ways to regain consciousness. Perhaps worse was to wake in such surroundings accompanied by the echoes of the screams of other elves, for this indeed was how Elrohir woke.

"Can you hear them, my lovely?" An orc's face was suddenly pressed to the slot in the door at head height, his breath harsh to his ears in the ringing left behind the scream. "I know you can. It excites you, doesn't it? The thought of one of us with one of you." The orcs rapid breathing told just how excited he was at the thought.

"You sick depraved creature. The only thought that excites me here is the thought of your death. It will not be slow to come." Elrohir sneered groggily, his heart in his mouth at the first confirmation he had heard of what they were doing to the others in cells further along. The orc laughed coarsely and moved away, murmuring,

"Your time will come, pretty one. And I want to be the one. Maybe then you will fear us as your friends do." As the orc hurried away in a hobbling gait, Elrohir pressed his face to the open panel, left open by the orc.

"Elladan?" He called. "Can anyone hear me?" A heavy hand slammed the panel back in place, narrowly missing his face. Elrohir retreated to the corner of the room gripping his elbows to try and return some warmth to his body. Something about this place chilled him in a way no elf should be chilled.

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Guruz was looking proud of himself as he approached his master's avatar, and this was enough to make the once-man sigh. Something was always going wrong if the orcs were looking proud of themselves.

"What have you done now?" He asked harshly.

"We have a gift for the Master." Guruz answered, his eyes bright.

"Show me."

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The Mouth of Sauron was led through the dark corridors of Dol Guldur with the orc Captain dancing eagerly in front of him. Down they went, into the foundations of the great tower where Sauron had once kept dungeons and torture chambers when this had been his domain. Long had these rooms stood empty, for Sauron had tried to deceive prying eyes into thinking his power passed, but now it was obvious to the avatar that they had been re-opened. A line of six cell doors facing him were locked tight and from further down the hall - in the main torture chamber - a scream echoed suddenly in the silence. The flicker of a smile touched the once-man's face. He had missed this fun.

"Show me." He said again, and the orc led him towards the room. He opened the doors wide and stepped inside. The avatar was breath-taken. As though a mirror had been laid down the middle of the room, the scene before him was split in two. From chains above their heads two elves were hung by their wrists face to face - dark hair falling about their shoulders and gathering damply about bloody lashes across their backs. They had been stripped of everything save the soft leather riding leggings they had been wearing upon capture. Two pairs of grey eyes came up to meet his, and they were perfectly mirrored in each other. A purpling bruise across the left-hand face was all that separated them.

"Do you recognise them, my lord?" Guruz pressed. "Do you see the resemblance in their faces?" If it were possible he grinned even wider at the avatar's dazed look. "They are the sons of Elrond. Tell me now that this is no great gift for the Master." Shock rolled through the once-man and he reached out to Sauron over the distance, needing his council.

_Mine, what would you have of me?_

'I fear the orcs may have done something inexcusable.'

_The orcs often do inexcusable things, Mine. It is their way._ Came a reply in a tone too soft to have been connected to the speaker by any other listener.

'They have brought the sons of Elrond here. If they are followed, your riders may be exposed.' A flicker of panic along the connection.

_It is too early. Not everything is in place. _Anger mixed with the slightest hints of fear in the distant voice. Fear that only the avatar would ever hear, fear that only he would ever know.

'I know this. What would have me do?' There was a surge within him, as he surrendered control.

"Fools, Imbeciles." The avatar cast his eyes around the room, watching as the gathered orcs cringed away from his Master's channelled rage. "You would bring the wrath of the White Council down upon us once more, long before we are ready!" The avatar could feel his puppeteer fuming down their bond. Sauron did not like to have cause to be afraid.

'Master.' He half-whispered down their bond. 'Still this can be salvaged.'

_Tell me, Mine. Tell me your thoughts._ The once-man knew that his Master had no need to ask, he could simply take the thoughts from his mind, and much more with it. But there was a bond between them that called for more.

'Take their memories of this time, cast them back out into the wood and let them try to find their way home. If they die in the darkness of the wood it brings no suspicion. The Council already know of the orcs that inhabit this place.'

_My power still cannot be projected over far, I am not yet strong enough._ A flicker of uncertainty flowed through the thought-words, an emotion for the Mouth of Sauron only.

'You can channel through me, you have done it before.'

_It is not always… safe. You know this. Things can change and turn when placed in the hands of others._

'I am strong enough. Have faith in me'

_I _do_ have faith in you, Mine._ The tone was soft, conciliatory. _This may be the only way. Their folk will miss them if they disappear, and this is a danger, much as I would prefer to have them destroyed._

'We will face them later and they will have no choice but to submit then. Have no fear.

_I have no fear!_ He spat down their connection, suddenly furious. Only his avatar could have such an effect on him, no other would ever know of his hesitations, his… fears. _Very well, bring them before me in the forest, away from this place and we will see what can be done._

"My Lord." The avatar looked up as Guruz approached him slowly, as though he were some kind of wild animal that might lash out at any moment.

"Speak." His voice was still filled with Sauron's power, but it was under his own control once more.

"There are… others. Those who accompanied these two and the group they came looking for."

"How many." He asked resignedly, feeling his Master withdraw.

"There were nine overall, My Lord." Guruz flinched and took a step back.

"And now?"

"We killed only two, My Lord." Guruz could not resist a smile. "We are good at what we do."

"Gather them."

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The remaining seven elves were piled ungracefully - none able to stand - in a group outside the boundaries of Dol Guldur. Gathering what strength they could muster, Elladan and Elrohir pulled each other to their feet to face the hoard that now surrounded them, profoundly glad to find one another again after their separations in the cells and the torture that had followed. Proudly, they watched as Túrith and Daefindir stood shakily beside them, clinging to each other for balance and support.

It was the first time the rescuers had chanced to see their lost friends up close, and though the sounds they had suffered through and their own treatment had given them something to go on, the sight that met them was painful. Minastir and Dîngor's absence was palpable, though none of them knew whether it had been Dîngor's wound that had taken his life or some other darkness. Some of the warriors were clothed; others were naked on the ground. Only Baranir, save Daefindir and Túrith, was conscious. He did not meet the eyes of any of the others, lost in his own world laid out upon the ground with nothing to cover him save his skin.

Legolas was one of the unconscious and though he now wore his britches, it was obvious that he had not been able to keep them on for the whole of his captivity. They were heavily bloodstained, as were those of the others, all save the twins who had seemingly been protected by the recognition of their status. The bloodstains matched the slightly dazed looks on their faces. Deep in his heart Elrohir knew that it would only be a matter of time before the numbness began to fade for those sad souls and they began to give in to the sickening darkness. The thought that Legolas was one of those made that thought too heavy for his heart to contemplate for long and he turned his attention back to the orcs and the man that led them.

It was likely they would not live beyond this noon anyway. It seemed inevitable that they would be killed here and now, far from Dol Guldur where their deaths could be traced back to this man who seemed to have so much power. It was not his power that made him shiver with chill though, and Elrohir's wandering mind pondered that mystery for a moment.

As they watched and waited for their doom to descend upon them, those conscious enough to think of such things began to seek any escape from this desperate situation. It was hopeless though. There was no way they would all be able to escape at once, and none were willing to abandon any of the others who were unable to run.

Elrohir took a deep breath and glanced at his brother. At least they were here together, it was a guilty thought that brought unreasonable relief. It was not that he wanted his brother's death, but quite selfishly, he did not want to die alone. A flicker of a smile was Elladan's response and, without thought they turned in unison to kneel at the side of their love, hearts faltering and eyes welling at the sight of what had been done to him during their capture. They lifted him so that he rested in their arms, and there they waited their fate.

_-_

_Mine. We must be ready._

'I am, My Lord. I await you.'

_Show them to me._ In some strange way it seemed to the Mouth that a second pair of eyes had opened within him, or that his eyes had opened again - though they had already been open. He focused on the pitiful group before him, and felt his master smile_. Look at their pain… their fear. How I wish this were the old days, the house of Elrond would have paid dearly for this mistake._

'Soon, My Lord. We must have patience.'

_Then let us continue_. It felt as though a warm breath had been blown down his spine, as though his master now stood at his shoulder. He leant back into his touch, and swayed slightly when there was no physical form to lean against. _Look upon them, Mine._ He opened his eyes, realising he had closed them to concentrate on the feeling.

'I see their pitiful forms.' He was beginning to fill with power, a tingling of heat through his body. 'I hear their sad heart-beats.' His breathing quickened as the power flowed through him, filling him, bringing him. His half-focused gaze found one of the orc guards and very slowly he pulled that power out and stifled that steady beat. The orc dropped to the ground, dead.

_Mine._ Sauron admonished, his voice filled with soft humour. _Channel the power, do not use it. It is not yours to control._

'Sorry, My Lord. I am a man, weak for power. It tempts me.'

I know this, but you must resist. Perhaps this is not… 

'I am strong enough, My Lord. I take my strength from you. Let me continue.'

_Then make them stand. _The avatar moved to call the orcs forward, and was pulled to a stop by his Master's control. _MAKE them stand._ Sauron repeated, and this time the avatar understood. He turned his attention to the elves.

"Stand." He ordered. Those elves not already standing found themselves on their feet, though consciousness did not return for Legolas or Elanor. Elrohir gulped at this display of power; he had stood along with the others, his and Elladan's hands now grasped around Legolas' wrists instead of around his shoulders. Who was this man, to have such power? He was not Istari, he was nothing more than a man.

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_Now. _Sauron's voice continued in the avatar's mind. _We clear their minds of all of this. _His hand was reaching out to them, no longer under his own control, now completely channelling the will of his master. It seemed as though the energy spiked within him, suddenly painful and too bright - blinding him on the inside. This was the source of his Master's power, and he had seen it only once before. It was a white and pure thing, its origins far separated from its uses in Sauron's hands.

It was not so bright as it had been then—once it had driven him to his knees and into unconsciousness as soon as his Master had released him—but still, the power was near-overwhelming.

A voice whispered into his consciousness; softer, more sweet than usual, filled with light. _Do not fight it, Mine. Let it flow through you_. He opened his eyes again, focusing on the elves. He could see that the orcs cowered away and he wondered what external signs there were of his merging.

As though he has asked the question out loud, he was suddenly looking on himself through an orcs eyes. His body held some kind of glowing aura, almost too bright for orc eyes to look upon, and it seemed as though a shadow of someone taller, and more imposing, stood behind him, in the darkness cast by the glow. _Do not be distracted, Mine. Else this will not go properly._ Sauron's voice called him back to himself, and the hint of strain in his words reminded him how much effort this had to be costing his Master. He turned his attention on the elves.

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Elrohir felt the weight building in his mind as the man turned his attentions on them. His ears felt as though they needed to pop, and a pressure built behind his eyes until he felt he would collapse if not for the resounding command that still held him on his feet. He could hear moans around him, but they seemed distant and vertigo was beginning to swim up and spin him around. Unable to keep his balance, he staggered backwards.

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Catching sight of the elf that was trying to escape - or so it seemed - Guruz hefted the heavy orc sword and moved quickly to behind him, taking a good swing. As the blow came down it caught the attention of the avatar, thus distracting him from his task so suddenly that the power that had been building dispelled itself wildly across the clearing. Seven elves fell to the ground to remain there, completely still. Guruz had only a moment to realise that his blow had fallen true and celebrate another good kill before the residual power finally found its home in him. He was dead long before the various parts of him found their way to the ground.

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Sesshy: Thanks, as always for huge helps :D U'ra darling

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Trunk-kun: Thanks for the review! Here's the next one


	5. Chapter Five

AN: I don't know when Andúril was originally forged, though I know that in the books Aragorn had it when the fellowship began, so I am presuming Aragorn had the sword reforged when he received it, and found out about his heritage. This is probably wrong.

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AN2: Due to a lack of enthusiasm though the reviewers, I've decided that the story's going to take a turn it wouldn't have originally. Because I'm mean like that. Thanks as always to Sesshy for beta and encouragement.

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Aragorn, Heir of Isildur, daydreamed. His thoughts dallied on the window seat of his room at Rivendell, which was kept for him while he travelled long and far across the countries in the service of the Rangers of the North, once proud defenders of the land of Arnor long bereft its King. Though he had risen quickly through the ranks of the Rangers, Strider - as he had been dubbed - was still young; and as a young Ranger he was subject to the elder's rule. So Strider was only allowed five months in the ranks before he was gifted an enforced month's leave in which to return home. For most Rangers, this was a chance to return home to help with harvest or lambing season, depending on their family's trade. For Aragorn, it meant returning to the elven haven of Imladris to take lessons from the elven masters in medicine, history and law.

And here alone, though only once before had it happened, did he have a chance to see the ethereal Daughter of Imladris - Arwen Undómiel. So the Heir of Isildur dreamed of sitting upon his favourite seat in the house with the only one that he would ever wish to have for company. He let his long legs guide him along the long paths of the valley on his way North to the Old Ford. There he could cross the Anduin and then head East over the Misty Mountains once more, and into home.

Though it might have seemed rude to others to daydream whilst travelling in the company of another, a tall figure walked alongside the man, for the most part ignored. This was Mithrandir, one of the Istari—a wizard, called Gandalf by men—and he was not offended in the least with the man's preoccupation. The two had often travelled together in quiet contemplation of very different topics and this noon was nothing unusual.

Or at least it had not been, until two horses that the two wanderers knew very well bolted past them, seemingly taking the same path towards Rivendell. With a call from the wizard, the two horses slowed and pranced to a stop, turning to face him impatiently, eager to be away once more. He moved quickly to their sides, soothing them as their breathing slowed. Scrambling quickly to the top of a nearby boulder, Aragorn looked out across the valley, but saw no pursuit.

"Two more horses head back into Mirkwood on the Old Forest Road, they are also riderless, and moving in haste." He called back to the wizard.

"I see." Mithrandir mused, calming the two horses of Imladris with his hands and his voice. "Then there has been trouble in Mirkwood." The Istar absently examined the speck of blood on Carangil's nose, rubbing it between his fingers. "Aragorn, what think you to a little more adventuring before you turn for home" Aragorn longed for the chance to rest from the fraught and sparse existence that was a Ranger's life, in truth, but Ranging was in his soul. He knew the slow moving life of the elves would quickly seem tiring to him after so long in the wilds. Besides which, he knew that the twins who he considered to be brothers were mostly likely in trouble if their horses appeared without them, and in so panicked a state no less.

"Home will still be there in a few days more."

"Then you take Cúdîn back to Mirkwood where he will show you the source of their panic, and I shall ride Carangil to Imladris and bring Elrond's aid to the Elven-Kings halls where you should await us."

"Good luck, and all speed go with you, should we need Lord Elrond's aid."

"Stay safe, young Aragorn. Dark deeds are afoot this day." So saying, the grey garbed wizard leapt with flexibility belying his many years onto the back of Elladan's horse. He was far out of sight by the time Aragorn had arranged himself on Cúdîn's back and turned him back towards the darkling wood.

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Cúdîn danced uncertainly as Aragorn urged him back into the shadow of the woods only a single day later. As soon as they had passed the boundary the horses' pace increased, sensing that as soon as his task was done here he would be free to leave this terrifying place once more. Soothing the horse as much as he could with experienced hands, Aragorn looked around them for some sign of the abandoned riders. He hadn't even known this path had existed; certainly it was on no map of the area that he had seen. But then little of Mirkwood had been properly charted, so perilous as it was. Only the Elven-King had full maps, and these were many hundreds of years old and probably near obsolete with the actions of the Necromancer in the South. It took only a few hours to reach the place where Carangil had left the path and here Cúdîn stopped, waiting for his rider to realise he needed to dismount.

Aragorn slid from his back obediently, and followed as he began to make his cautious way into the trees once again. Aragorn blanched as they found the carcass of Seregon, now well on its way to returning to the ground that had long nurtured its life. The stench of orc was beginning to dissipate, but Aragorn knew it and began to regret separating from the wizard. Though still young, already he had learned much of the Ranger's trade, and soon his eyes were fixed to the ground, searching for those traces that would allow him to find which direction his friends had been taken in. It was now obvious that it was more than just Elrohir and Elladan he was looking for. A second pair of hoof-prints led him to another carcass, and from there on to three more, but these said nothing of where the orcs had gone. He returned to Seregon, where there was most sign of orcs on the ground. Cúdîn still stood there, watching him uncertainly.

"You may return home now, Cúdîn. You have led me here, that is enough." The horse snorted, but made no move to go. "There will be little room for someone your size in this forest, do you intend to follow me all the way" Aragorn insisted impatiently. The horse took a few steps closer to the man and nudged him along the trail a little way. "Very well, but Elrohir will be very upset if you were to get hurt." Cúdîn whinnied shortly, now even more eager to be off. "No doubt you would hate to see him hurt too. Let us be off then."

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The sight that greeted him was one Aragorn would not easily forget.

Elladan sat upon the ground, tears streaking his face and both his hands buried in a wadded cloth held to a wound much greater than its make-shift bandage in his twins back. Elrohir lay deathly still, his eyes wide open to the skies and yet absent as though in sleep. Both wore nothing but the riding leggings they favoured. Two more still forms lay not far away, both fair-haired and one wearing breeches in Mirkwood colours, though the other lay in the clothes he had been born in. He wondered - too lost in shock to think to seek answers - if either of them were Legolas. It seemed likely, since often where the twins went he was not far behind. No breath stirred either body, no movement or sigh.

The moment was strangely surreal. No noise disturbed the clearing; even Elladan's tears were silent. And none responded to his arrival. Elladan seemed too focused on the blood seeping between his fingers. He didn't even look up as Aragorn dropped to his knees beside him.

"Valar, Elladan. Is he…" There was no reply, Elladan continued staring blankly down at his hands. Gingerly Aragorn reached out and lay two fingers on Elrohir's neck. He almost whooped for joy when a flutter beneath his hand revealed his foster brother's continued existence.

"Elladan, you must move." He spoke, spurred into immediate action. "I have bandages in my pack, if we bind this wound he might have a chance." He was already moving back towards Cúdîn, who still carried his pack. He gathered the supplies and returned to the two's side, and yet still Elladan had not moved or responded. Beginning to worry, Aragorn grasped hold of his hands, hoping to pull him out of his trance. It worked, although not quite the way the ranger was hoping for. Elladan leapt to his feet, drawing his sword in one swift movement and forcing Aragorn to take several steps back to keep his head.

"You cannot take him from me." He spoke at last, the words strangely hesitant. "He is the last, the only other. I will not be parted from him." His eyes sought wildly around the clearing as though Aragorn was invisible to him.

"Elladan" Aragorn asked, shocked at the drastic reaction. "Do you not see me? Do you not recognise my voice" There came no reply, only a swift swing of Elladan's sword - wild and off-target.

Making a quick decision, Aragorn drew Andúril and hesitated for only a heartbeat before spinning the blade in his hand and offering the hilt to Elladan's hand. The elf span away, but Aragorn had predicted the swing that came next and manoeuvred out of reach. The second time Aragorn touched the hilt to the elf's hand he held it there and allowed Elladan to take the sword from him. It was a leap of faith, for if Elladan's attitude towards him did not change he was now unarmed, save for the knife in his belt.

"Estel." Elladan breathed at last, recognising the sword in his hand and offering it back. Aragorn clasped his shoulder as he took it from him, breathing a sigh of relief that he would not have to resort to his second plan and knock the elf out.

"I'm glad you know me Elladan, but I fear you neither hear me nor see me, so I pray you realise that I need an explanation, and there are no others here to give me one." He spoke, turning his attentions quickly back to Elrohir.

"Someone's bleeding Estel, you have to help them" Elladan seemed to come back to himself after his relief at the discovery of the stranger's identity, seeking about himself once more for Aragorn who had already moved away and was knelt at Elrohir's side.

He stared in shock for a moment at Elrohir's wound as it was revealed to him. Though he had assumed they had simply been attacked, Elrohir's skin showed signs of torture - heavy lash marks across his shoulders and back, the mottled scars of a branding. Whatever had befallen the twins and their company, it had been no momentary meeting. It had been capture and torment.

He turned his attentions to the wound as his hands began cleansing it automatically. Blood flowed from it sluggishly, though it was big enough to encompass his whole fist. He needed to work fast. Swiping the drying blood away, Aragorn sought the source of the bleeding. Finding the severed vein expertly he quickly tied it off, hoping he would get to help before the restricted blood flow began to cause damage in itself. Rinsing out the blood once more with water from his canteen to make sure there was no other prolific source of bleeding, Aragorn flinched as he realised white bone was exposed within the gash. Whatever had cut into him had cut deep enough to reach his spine. He had never heard of a paralysed elf, yet he had no idea if any serious wound to the elf's spine could be healed.

Offering a prayer to the Valar and knowing there was nothing more he could do, he put a couple of quick stitches into the edges of the wound to encourage it to close and began bandaging, returning his attention to Elladan as the other elf began explaining.

"I pray that it is Elrohir for if it is not he is lost in this forsaken forest with one of the others. We began in a long chain together, but fate seemed determined to separate us. Either that or… or the others are dead. The one who was leading us fell… to poison I think. He dropped this elf, his burden - I think it was this that reopened the wound, for I am sure he would not have risked carrying an elf with such a wound without binding it. The one I was carrying seemed already dead, and so I left him to tend to this one. I could not stop the bleeding and…" A hand caught his and pulled him back towards where the other lay. A soft tug brought him down to his knees and placed his hand in soft hair, trailing it from the crown of Elrohir's head to the back of his neck where an elaborate set of knots caught it back away from his face. These were not the warrior braids of Mirkwood. Elladan sighed in relief, finding Elrohir's hand and bringing it to his lips.

The wound properly bound and the bleeding slowed, Aragorn turned his attentions to the Mirkwood warriors behind them. They would have to be buried out here, for he would not be able to carry them both as far as the Elven-King's domain, and Cúdîn would be needed to carry Elrohir. He stood, leaving the twins together for a moment, and made his way over.

He had drawn up alongside the first elf - a bluish tinge marring his features where the last breath had left his body - when he caught a glimpse of the face of the second. He dropped to his knees with a cry of grief.

Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, lay motionless on the ground where Elladan had left him.

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So there. Review. Or else.


	6. Chapter Six

AN: Really, _really_ sorry for using film-elvish. But it was the best I had on the spur of the moment. And it fits. Someone yell at me if it's the wrong language or something.

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AN2: Last story I had ambivalence, this time round I have disappointment. Just can't satisfy some people. Disappointment, if you come back? There's a big message for you at the bottom.

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Legolas' eyes stared absently up into the canopy, the green light reflected there turning them aquamarine. He lay there in only his leggings, his chest revealed in its bloody glory. His eyes were first drawn to what had to have been the killing blow - a wound in his chest, almost hidden by the sheer amount of blood, which had already stopped bleeding at the ceasing of his heartbeat. Blood had flowed deep red from the wound across his side to merge with thick long lash marks that curled around from his back. His lip was split wide and deep - as if someone had taken a knife to it - and this wound too had bled extensively, but no more. His leggings seemed drenched in blood, and this brought fear to his heart as to what other wounds he might find if he searched further. He turned his back to try and re-gather his thoughts and calm his breathing a little.

Turning again, he kneeled at his side. Habit led his fingers to Legolas' throat, and he flinched away from the coldness of his skin. Gentle fingers closed sightless eyes and he sat back, stunned.

It was wrong. He was an elf, immortal. No death should touch him on all of Arda. No ending save when he chose to take a ship west.

Tears welled and a harsh sob gathered in his chest, all of his grief in one noise of true pain. What future for his brothers now, when their love lay broken upon the ground, no more for their bed, no more for their arms?

"Estel? What is it, what have you found" A faint voice from across the clearing wavered across to him. Hoping that Elladan had regained his hearing and had heard his cry he stumbled back to the others, casting grieved looks over his shoulder. He quickly realised, though, that it wasn't Elladan that had voiced the question.

"Elrohir" He asked, near hysterical laughter bubbling up in his chest as he realised that the younger twin's eyes were focused upon his face.

"Estel, it _is_ you."

"You hear me? You see me"

"Yes, though I know not why… I think perhaps we were all effected differently by the… by whatever that was."

"Tell me, please Elrohir, tell me what happened."

"When I returned to consciousness I could not see, hear, move nor feel another's touch. It was complete isolation in the worst way. My hearing returned in only a little time, my sight shortly afterwards and feeling returns in my feet even now. It seems Elladan's senses are returning differently." Elrohir's eyes slid across to Elladan who still knelt before him with both his twin's hands encased in his own.

"What happened to you Elrohir? How came you to be here, so far south and in such a state."

"First I would know what you see over there that caused you such distress. Elladan started this journey carrying Legolas and I couldn't see if he was… I couldn't see if he was alright."

"It is him, and another elf over there. I do not recognise the other and he looks perfectly peaceful, though there is no life in him. I see no one wound that might have killed him."

"Baranir…" Elrohir sighed. "It was grief. He could not stop his own tears and it took all of his strength simply to stand with me in his arms and keep walking. Grief has taken him; and Legolas will follow soon, I fear, for he shared in their torture."

"No. Legolas bares a wound that…that was his end. His passing was quicker." He forced this bitter reality though his lips. Aragorn couldn't be sure, but he could not let Elrohir think he had suffered such a slow death.

"He is… he is dead then" Elrohir bit back a sob. "He took the brunt of his men's torture. He has yet to understand that it hurts most of us more to see him treated in such a way than to bear it ourselves. He takes it upon himself to save us and they readily comply, for they see what it does to us. Legolas and the four that accompanied him were in the captivity of the orcs for days before we arrived." He was close to hysterical, and Aragorn grasped his hands to offer some support. Silent tears traced lines of sorrow down Elrohir's face. "Why is it always the young ones, Estel? Not one of them over 1000. They were too young to suffer so."

"No one is old enough to endure such suffering."

"We were there two days. They made us listen to them scream during the nights."

"Elrohir…" His reassurance stumbled to nothing as his mind faltered back to the blood on Legolas' leggings. The blood on the other's… His eyes flickered without command, first to Elrohir's leggings and then to Elladan's. Elrohir caught his glance.

"They didn't touch us, Estel. At least… not that way. It is perhaps the only reason you do not find us already with Legolas and his company." A harsh shudder rippled through Elrohir, followed soon after by Elladan, as though their souls were shuddering in unison at the thought, though Elladan had not heard his words.

"Brother" Elladan spoke. "Are you well, are you awake" Elladan's seeking hands found Elrohir's face, and a brush of his lips was enough to answer his question. Tears returned to Elrohir as he glanced towards the other two elves in the clearing, now knowing for sure what his heart had suspected. "Why such heart's-tears, 'Ro? Who are these for" Elladan couldn't fail to notice the dampness spreading beneath his fingers.

"Aragorn? You have to tell him, show him… find some way." Stifling the sting of tears and nodding his consent to Elrohir, Aragorn took Elladan's hands and pulled him away from Elrohir, taking him across the clearing. He guided his hand out to Legolas' face, holding it as he flinched away from the touch of cold skin.

"Estel? What is this?" His hand was taken further, into his hair, into fine woven plaits that declared loyalty and status. Plaits that would have given him away to the orcs had they known how to read them. Absently Elrohir wondered - as he watched his brother explore that face, so familiar to them, and as yet unrecognised - if his fate would have been any different had they known who he was. Perhaps they would have killed him any way, out of spite for his king and his realm. Would that have been better than the torture he had endured? Perhaps. Damn the hard-headed woodelves. Elrohir could pinpoint the very moment realisation come to Elladan, his face crumpling and tears falling almost immediately.

"No." A whisper. A denial.

"I'm sorry." Aragorn replied, flinching as he realised that his apology was worthless, hating the roughness that impending tears brought to his voice. Elladan would not have heard it anyway. Slowly he led Elladan back over to Elrohir, away from their source of their sorrow. As soon as the twins were back in contact they were wrapped around each other, and it seemed to Aragorn that at least a little of the movement had belonged to Elrohir. Perhaps there was still hope... He choked back the tears that had begun to fall without his leave, taking a couple of deep breaths to compose himself.

"We must move away from… this place." He coughed to cover up the hitch in his words. "I… I will bury Legolas and Bar"

"No! You cannot" Elrohir exclaimed, looking up from Elladan's shoulder. "How could you think of such a thing? We must take them with us."

"Elrohir, I can only carry so many. They are lost to us, gwador, there is nothing more we can do for them." He pleaded.

"Yes there is! We can give them the respect they deserve! It is _Legolas_, Estel. We cannot leave him to the orcs and spiders. Put them on Cúdîn, Elladan can carry me still. Let us take them home."

"Very well." Aragorn conceded, sensing the grief and hopelessness in Elrohir's voice. "But I must carry you, for your wound will better heal if it is not jarred, and Elladan cannot promise light-footedness today."

"My thanks." And then the tears began, and there was nothing more to say.

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It felt a little more than disrespectful, to have the bodies of two brave warriors cast over the saddle like some war trophy, but Aragorn turned his eyes, knowing that this was the only way if they wished to take them back to their home.

"Hiro hyn hîdh ab wanath." He muttered to himself (being 'May they find peace in death') in apology for his treatment of their remains upon Middle Earth. Thanking Cúdîn for performing this grisly task with a pat, Aragorn turned his attentions to the twins, and his next problem.  
He knew Elladan would need guiding, and Elrohir would need carrying, and he would have liked to have a hand free to steady Cúdîn's load. But he simply did not have enough hands. Taking Elrohir from Elladan, he grasped Elladan's hand and placed it on his shoulder firmly, his message clear. Then he bent down to scoop up Elrohir into his arms. Trusting that Cúdîn would follow, Aragorn moved off North, back towards the track out of the forest.

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It was only a short time later, the day beginning to fade from the rare glimpses of sky, when Aragorn stopped in horrified silence, swaying as Elladan didn't stop in time and bumped into the back of him.

"Estel? What is it?" Elrohir asked groggily, unable to see much save the canopy from where he was laid, like a babe in his arms.

"Elves." He whispered, choked. "Three of them. One an elleth, the other two…" His voice broke for a moment, unable to find words to describe the horror that sat before him. "They have died in each other's arms, like lovers."

"Turith, Daefindir and Elanor. Then we are complete, and the shadow of Mirkwood has truly taken the whole."

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Trunk-kun: Thanks soooo much for the reviews

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anonymous… um… too late.

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Pellawethiel: Thanks for the review, that's why I love angsty stories. This one has kind of gone off the tracks though…

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Blaise: Hehehe… sorry! This story has definitely taken a turn I didn't expect, and I'm not completely sure it was all reviewer-caused. I was having problems making the second half less like Orc, and this seemed an appropriate solution.

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drew's girl: Well this certainly tells you what happened to him -s please don't hate me!

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disappointed: I know you've said you won't be coming back, but just in case… I am sticking to my own reasoning here. The story fits the maps. You're just not reading it right. "_He let his long legs guide him along the long paths of the valley on his way North to the Old Ford. There he could cross the Anduin and then head East over the Misty Mountains once more, and into home_." OK? So Aragorn has come FROM the south (say the Gladden fields) for some reason or another, and is travelling north between Mirkwood and the River Anduin. He plans to cross the Great River at the Old Ford (do you have your map out?) and then follow the High Pass over the Misty Mountains back into Rivendell. He couldn't take the Redhorn Pass, as this will be more treacherous in summer as the snow will be melting and unstable.

Soooo… I would really appreciate it, if I could ever convince you to come back, if you would tell me exactly what piece of this is wrong, so that I may fix it, as apposed to just telling me I'm a moron and leaving it at that. That achieves NOTHING. Thanks.


	7. Chapter Seven

AN: I do not know how to make a litter, nor have I ever tried. As I may have mentioned earlier, I do not have a horse to try it out on either. If I have this wrong, I would love to know because I really am curious about this kind of thing.

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Aragorn stared down on the three bodies a moment later, hating that elves, beings more pure and eternal than any man, could be reduced to such a description. Then, with a heavy heart, he moved to lay Elrohir upon the ground.

"I must gather some wood so that we might make a litter to bare these home. Will you wait here for me?"

"I seem to have little choice, but thank you for asking anyway." Elrohir replied stiffly, flinching a little as he was laid upon the ground on his side, so that no pressure was places on his wound.

"I will check your bandages before we move on again." Aragorn took Elladan's hand from his shoulder where it had been resting, and pulled him down beside his brother, pressing a water skin into his hands. "Shout if you hear danger coming, you will not be able to hide." And with that warning, he moved quickly into the trees to search for wood.

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Left alone in the quiet of the glade, the only two alive, Elrohir began to feel chilled. Though he probably hadn't intended it, his thoughts on more serious matters, Aragorn had left Elrohir facing the three elves that they had had so little time to become acquainted with. It was as Aragorn had said: Túrith curled up close to Daefindir's side like a lover, Elanor with a hand reaching out to rest on Daefindir's waist. They looked as though they were sleeping after a night spent together. He closed his eyes against the sight.

Focusing instead on himself, he worked to discover if the strange paralysis and the numbness that had accompanied it were receding at all. After much deliberation, he decided that he could feel the grass beneath his feet and allowed himself a short celebration. When he found that his hands and forearms had also regained some sensitivity, he moved on to a full-fledged smile; finding that his hands were beginning to respond to his commands was the honey on the lembas. He had to restrain the urge to call Aragorn back and share the discovery with him. Oh, how small a thing could feel like freedom after days of isolation.  
Elladan was going through a similar process, though his was giving much less positive results. He sat on the ground with Elrohir's head in his lap - or at least it had been implied that it was Elrohir, and he reassured himself by stroking his hands through the knotted hair that spoke of an elf of status from Imladris.

The world around him was dark no matter how hard he stared and silent no matter how hard he listened. This was true isolation, the kind imposed by a wounded body. How would he continue if this were to prove permanent? His heart ached, reminding him of another wound. How would either of them continue without Legolas?

Some part of him wanted to deny what he been told, in the round about way that he become his only way of communication. He had not seen that Legolas was dead, nor had he heard the words spoken. What if he had misunderstood? But if that was the case what was the meaning of Elrohir's tears? Had he misunderstood that also? Was it Elrohir at all, or had he been separated from his friends and thrown into some mockery of life, some illusion where he was led further and further away from those he had sworn to protect?

How could he ever know truth from falsity?

He laid a gentle hand alongside Elrohir's face. For now he could only take things at face value and move on. His heart told him Elrohir was safe and nearby, so here he was. His heart told him that Aragorn would lead them truly, and so he followed. This was the only way for things to be.

"Would you like some water?" The face moved under his hand - a nod. "Can you take it yourself?" A shake. "Can I lift you without causing you pain?" Hesitation, then a nod. Elrohir was uncertain. "I shall be gentle, brother." It was life broken down into the smallest movements, the slowest exchanges, a series of discrete events. With the greatest care, Elrohir was lifted into sitting position, and fed a little water at a time until he wanted no more.

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Aragorn returned with two long poles, birch saplings that were more than twice his height. Taking a coil of rope from his satchel, he moved quickly to harness Cúdîn to the make-shift litter. Though the elven rope would not rub the horse, Aragorn hoped he would not have to drag the litter the whole way, for it was not the most comfortable of contraptions for the horse. Satisfied that the poles would not slip from around the horse's sides, Aragorn proceeded to lash the two ends together to form a triangular base over which he laid his cloak and bedroll. Then he moved the five bodies onto the litter and asked Cúdîn to walk on to make sure nothing rubbed against his sides and that the rig was stable enough.

The whole process had passed with barely a word from Aragorn save to ask Cúdîn to stand or walk on. As he moved to Elrohir's side, he saw that the marks of heated tears had stained his face and still they welled in his eyes, though he fought them for control.

"Come." He spoke in a voice that belied the tears. "I must redress your wound and then we may be off."

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Two torturously slow days, as they had to constantly stop to correct the litter's path, found them on the outskirts of the forest in the bright sun of the late afternoon. Aragorn and Elrohir squinted into the sun like prisoners released after centuries, bathing in the newly rediscovered joy. Elladan took a deep breath of the unhindered air and smiled too.

"We are out," he said with relief.

"Estel," Elrohir murmured, "I hear hoof-beats, get out of sight." Silently coaxing a resistant Cúdîn back into the hidden entrance to the forest, Aragorn placed Elrohir on the ground and made sure Elladan would stay with him before moving up to the edge of the forest and drawing his sword. He was taking no chances; his burden was too precious.

When seven elven warriors in Mirkwood colours rode into the clearing and turned towards his location he stepped out into their path, sword at the ready - a challenge.

"Do not be so foolish as to challenge us, man. This is not your time to die." The lead rider spoke, still settling his mount after the man's unexpected appearance.

"I challenge you in protection of those who cannot protect themselves. I would know your business here."

"We come seeking those of our kin who may be in trouble. We would have you move out of our way so that we might reach them all the quicker." With a sigh of relief, and a small voice asking him what _exactly_ he thought they would be doing in the area if that hadn't been the case, Aragorn lowered his sword and allowed his heart rate to calm.

"You have found them too late I fear, though I am glad for your presence." He whistled for Cúdîn and he came obediently, dragging the cumbersome litter. There were cries of shock and pain throughout the ranks as the burden the horse bore became visible.

"What did you have to do with this, man?" The lead rider was suddenly upon him, his sword at his throat.

"Nothing." Aragorn hissed, not intimidated. "My bond-brothers rode with them. I came to their aid, but there was nothing I could do for those who had already passed."

"And your brothers? You speak of the Noldor twins, surely. They do not suffer this degradation."

"They are hidden in the trees, they still live but they need the attentions of a healer as fast as possible, else they will join your kin. I could not have carried them all, and I would not leave the others alone in the forest to the spiders and orcs." The rider signalled two of his men into the trees to retrieve Elrohir and Elladan.

"My Captain?" An elf shouted over from where the contents of the litter were being examined. "There are only five here, but…" He hesitated, looking away into the forest.

"Speak, edhil."

"Our prince is among them. There are two still missing, but our prince is here." All motion stopped, froze. The shock on every elf's face was obvious. Their prince was dead.

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Seregal, Caramir and Thoron.

Elrohir seemed to think that learning their company's names and as much about them as they were willing to tell was important. Aragorn did not have the heart to deny him anything this day.

Three of the Mirkwood elves were accompanying them back to the Woodland palace while the other four rode back with the litter. Aragorn rode a borrowed horse with Elrohir braced in front of him so that he could be supported. Elladan was seated behind Seregal on his bay charger. Grimly the Mirkwood warriors rode; the knowledge forefront in their mind - they would be the ones to tell the King of his son's demise.

And who knew what his reaction would be, for who can predict a father bereft his son?

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"So you know nothing of how they are, only that they had been unhorsed?" Elrond was clutching at straws, and he knew it.

"Cúdîn and Carangil are not flighty colts to run from the slightest sign of danger and abandon their masters. We must assume there was some event. Nothing more can we assume, yet I think it best if you ride East so that you might ensure their wellbeing."

"Yes, yes. Of course." Mithrandir had never seen him so flustered. He was gathering supplies even as they spoke, and arranging them in a pack that had come to hand as if he were expecting such an eventuality. Despite the sureness of his movements, the wizard could see the uncertainty in his behaviour.

Erestor was called to his doorway and informed of the situation. Moments after he had left Glorfindel appeared to tell him that he and five others were ready and saddled up to accompany him. Erestor would mind Imladris while he was absent and the lord hesitated only long enough to apologise to his guests for missing the Midsummer festivals before hurrying out to mount the horse that had been prepared for him.

Elrond turned to look back at Mithrandir as they made to leave. He had made no move to mount up or gather himself.

"Do you not accompany us, Mithrandir?" He asked, curious at the Istar's lethargy.

"I have other tasks for the undertaking, Elrond. I will join you soon enough, you may see me coming when you look for me in impatience, as is your way." The lord harrumphed at this, but gathered his horse and turned to the gates none the less. "Fare thee well, Elrond. And have courage." Mithrandir bid his own goodbye as the group disappeared from view. "For you will surely need it in the days to come."

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Will reply to reviews in next chapter! Will miss my bus if I do it now and I figured you'd rather have this now as opposed to in five days time when I get back


	8. Chapter Eight

Aragorn could have counted every single step the horse made through the pain in his bond-brother's soft grey eyes.

He had reluctantly agreed to allow someone else to ride with Elrohir so that he could take a little rest while they rode. He had to admit that even as Thoron had offered he had been wondering if his arms would take the continued strain. He was bone-weary; days among his friends, dead and injured sapping all of his strength and vigour. He could only hope that they got all the way back to the palace before he broke down, knowing that it would not be too long before the horror of the last few days began to sink in.

And meanwhile he got to watch Elrohir's eyes flinch with every footstep the horse took. In face he was completely stoic, and his shoulders showed no sign of the tension that flickered through his eyes, but Aragorn had had a good number of years now to learn to read his brothers. He knew it would have been no better for the injured elf if he had been riding with him, but at least then he didn't have to see his pain. It was a selfish thought, and Aragorn immediately felt guilty for it.

Travelling in this way – with little talk and much thought – left Aragorn in the difficult position of considering the future of his sworn-brothers. He knew well of the grieving sickness that could destroy an elf after a loved-one's passing, and they had both lost someone dear to them in this earth-shattering event. Been witness to his demise in the most devastating of ways. Been subject to torture of their own.

How long before those he loved like the closest brothers, despite millennia between them, began to show signs of grief and waning? He could not see any way of escape for them save the two that held the most pain for him. The path west, or the path less travelled in times of peace, through the halls of Mandos to the other side. Though whether or not these could still be considered times of peace was a question to be asked. The actions of Dol Guldur - sending their prisoners away into the forest unarmed and fatally injured - seemed an act of war if any was to be seen. Especially considering whom their prisoners had been.

Aragorn looked over to Elladan, biting his lip at the look of vacant concentration on the elf's face, still trying to work out what was going on around him. Caramir rode with him, having taken over from Seregal earlier in the day. His mind trailing down another path, Aragorn wondered at the strange symptoms of the twins, and what little they had been able to tell him about their cause. A man, Elrohir had told him as they had passed through deepest darkest Mirkwood. A man with some strange strength, some power unprecedented. He wondered if the effects would be permanent, or whether the twins would be able to expect some reprieve. It seemed impossible to think of his sworn-brothers so incapacitated for any length of time. As elves, they were rarely bedridden at all, save for those rare confrontations with the enemy that didn't go quite as planned. Even then it seemed to the young man that they were hardly in bed a day or two before they were on their feet again and out of the door on their hunts less than a week later.

How different would life be in Imladris with the twins in such bad shape? With none to teach him sword-play, none to show him how to string a bow, cast a fishing line, gut his dinner in a beautifully constructed bivouac. The elves rarely did things by halves.

He had always thought - before Lord Elrond had told him of the heavy weight that was laid across his shoulders - that his sons would also be fostered by the Imladrian elves, as his father had, and his father before. And they would be taught as he had, of all the skills they would need to survive as rangers in this harsh world.

Who now would teach them, should there prove to be no solution for the twins? Who would help him through the most turbulent times to come? He was sure that he would have no easy ride to completing his destiny, but he had always been reassured by the thought that the two would be at his side through the whole thing.

Mirkwood was in the middle of a gathering feast when they arrived, and their appearance brought immediate worry for though Elladan and Elrohir had borrowed clothes from the soldiers it was quite obvious that they were injured. Elrohir had fallen unconscious after the long and trying journey, and was rested against Aragorn's chest as they rode. But even still, the panic was not as it might have been, had they known… Aragorn dismounted, Elrohir in his arms. He was hustled towards a covered area of the wood by two elves that split from the crowd to meet them as two more rushed to take their horses and Caramir followed him with Elladan. He hesitated only momentarily as he saw that Seregal and Thoron had turned to a different path.

"They have gone to talk to the King." Caramir told him. "They will return later to see how these two fare."

Quietly Seregal approached his Lord and King, waiting for his attention before asking for a private audience for a moment. His rumpled appearance - having come directly from his horse - was enough to garner the King's attention and they slipped away into one of the quieter spaces.

"My Lord." Seregal began, swallowing down fears that had been building in him since he had realised that this talk would have to come from him. "We were sent out to seek out Daefindir and Minastir and the Noldor twins when their horses returned riderless almost a week ago now."

"They went out seeking my son." Thranduil observed, his attention now full on the Captain.

"Yes my lord." Seregal hesitated again, his words unsure.

"Well, tell me what you have found, edhel! Or do I have to read the information direct from your mind?" Seregal flinched backwards.

"We found a man in the south, sire and… he…" He sighed, he could not avoid the words to come. "Sire, your son is dead, and all of his troupe with him." There was a dazed look in the King's eyes for a moment, and then his gaze hardened.

"You lie. My son travels with the guard, his skill is too great to allow his fall."

"He was in the south, sire, as per your order. He was spying upon Dol Guldur. They were captured and their rescue, planned by Daefindir and Minastir was unsuccessful. None… none save the twins survived, sire, and they are seeking treatment for dire wounds at this moment."

"Do you think I would send my only son into the south of Mirkwood? Into the arms of death as though I had no love for him?" The king demanded, his face reddening in rage.

"You could not have known, my lord. The tasks you ordain are assigned by others." Seregal soothed.

"Speak to me no more of this absurd notion." Thranduil stormed, waving the soldier away.

"But… my lord…?"

"No! I will have none of it. Take yourself from my sight!" Quietly, Seregal led Thoron away.

The healers made quick word of Elrohir's wound, already beginning to scar at the edges, and bound all of the small scratches, abrasions, burns and lashes on the twins that they could reach with cream and linen. Finished, they turned to umming and ahhing over the strange afflictions brought on by the as-yet unidentified man of Dol Guldur. And yet, um and ah as they might, no solution could they find. 'Time,' they said at last, was the cure for the malady. Some evil presence had laid its power over them and only as the menace was allowed to shift would they shake off its grip.

Secretly they muttered amongst themselves, saying that perhaps the younger Prince's paralysis was not as the other symptoms, and what a deep wound he had taken to his back, but they said nothing more for fear of a misdiagnosis.

When Seregal and Thoron returned, they tersely told the others that no word was to be spoken of the Prince's demise until the King could be brought to see sense. They could not tell others of his son's demise if he did not truly know of it himself. And Elladan and Elrohir clung to each other like lifelines as they were examined and treated, with their sworn-brother watching on, and hoping beyond hope that this situation could find some kind resolution.


	9. Chapter Nine

Where Elrohir's healing came in dribs and drabs, Elladan's came all at once two days after their arrival - his body expelling the evil laid upon it - and resulted in his immediate collapse. When he woke, a full day later it was to the sound of his brother talking with Aragorn in worried tones. All talked ceased as he opened his eyes with a groan to a blurry view of a visitor's room in Mirkwood Palace.

Suddenly all of the abstract information he had been receiving was brought into sharp focus, and any joy he might have taken at the knowledge that he and Elrohir were safe was quashed by the sorrow of the truth in Elrohir's eyes. Aragorn held him as bitter tears flowed.

With blankness akin to shock, Elladan sat for most of that day and the next alternating between tears and cold unresponsiveness. Aragorn relayed all that he knew regarding the events of the last week, and he accepted this knowledge wordlessly and without reply. Only the focus of his eyes told Aragorn that he had heard every word. Elrohir looked on with tears in his eyes.

"Please brothers." Aragorn implored at last, after a long silence in which he had waited for a response - any response to his words. "Talk to me of this pain you share, else it will overwhelm you."

"We have no wish to speak of it." Elrohir replied softly, an apology in his eyes. Elladan only sighed and turned his back on them both.

"Then will you allow this to be the death of both of you? Will you not fight for him, strive for vengeance?" The pain of the week's events was catching up with him, and though he knew his words were harsh he was too tired to try and rein them in.

"There is little joy to be had in such action, this is something we both know well." Elrohir replied coldly, reprimanding Aragorn for his rashly spoken words. He faltered for a moment.

"Will you give me no hope?" His voice sounded small and lost - even to him.

"Hope is the light you find in yourself when all is dark. It cannot be given so freely as that."

"But…"

"Let us mourn in solitude!" Elladan's outburst was unexpected and for a moment both were silent, unsure how to respond.

"You say those words, and yet the ones I hear are 'let us die in peace'." Aragorn replied, his voice soft. "I would not have you die, brothers. Not now. There is so much more to come." His piece said; Aragorn turned on his heel and walked from the room.

"I know fear, my brother." It was the first words Elrohir had spoken since Elladan's outburst, several hours earlier. It had been a tenuous silence - neither knowing how to voice what pain they knew they shared. Neither wanting to put into words the truths they knew in their deepest hearts.

"What can I do to ease your fear?" Elladan spoke over his shoulder, his back still to Elrohir, his tone vacant. They lay side by side on the bed, Elrohir on his side as his wound healed.

"I do not know, only I remember a time when we shared all that we were - and though now we are… divided by this event, I would have you know that I wish us to be united once more." The terse anger in Elrohir's voice finally brought Elladan out of his shell. Biting his lip, he rolled over and shuffled closer to Elrohir to pull him into a tight embrace. Elrohir's healing was enough to allow him to reach out and return the embrace, but little more.

"Forgive me brother." He whispered, laying a soft kiss in the corner of his mouth. "My sorrow drowns out rational thought, I am too weak to fight it."

"You are forgiven, it is nothing I am not guilty of myself."

"What do you fear?"

"The slowness of my healing. My arms and shoulders - that is the extent of it. What is this infuriating malady? What if I am to remain this way forever, what then?"

"We cannot give up hope, nor stop striving for your recovery."

"Do we…" He hesitated. "Do we still strive, brother? After this loss? I fear the grief also, and yet I would embrace its offer of a peace beyond this place."

"I had not wished to speak of it with you. I… I feared what you might say."

"Did you fear that I would embrace the grief - or that I would turn it away and leave you to walk the path alone? I know you, Elladan. Sometimes better than I know myself. How is it that you can doubt me so?" A weight seemed to drop from Elladan's shoulders.

"We are agreed then? We follow the light until the darkness becomes too strong. Together. As it has always been."

"As it should always be."

Thranduil was on his knees when Aragorn strode past the front gates, a still body in his arms. The sight brought Aragorn to an abrupt stop as he took in the scene. The soldiers that had returned with the bodies had made the honourable decision that they would carry their charges into the city, to spare them the indignity of the litter for the last few miles. They had gathered a cloud of mourners, from the city guards and any who had crossed their path on the last leg of their journey home. There was a terrible blankness on the Kings face as he stood with his son's body in his arms and turned towards the palace. Cries of pain and sorrow announced the arrival of the families of the other elves, and soon all had found their place in the arms of those that had loved them and had lost them. Turning away from the sorrowful scene with a heavier heart, Aragorn followed Thranduil back inside.

As soon as he was out of sight, the King collapsed to his knees and began sobbing his grief to the halls. His advisors gathered around, but Aragorn dispersed them with a strong word and stood to one side to stand guard over the King as he offered his grief to the gods. It was the first time he had had a chance to see Legolas in full light - out of the depressing murky darkness of the south of the forest. He found himself grateful that Elladan and Elrohir were not around to see for themselves, for it was heartbreaking for him and he was nothing more than a good friend to the elf.

Thranduil - broken - clung to his son's body like a lifeline, holding him as one might hold a child, cradled in his arms. His tears - now silent - washed at the bloody patches on his son's skin, smearing the blood into trails that coursed down the palest skin and puddled in his own clothes, onto his own skin.

He didn't notice - his mind too far away.

The bruises that Aragorn had convinced himself had only been shadows in the forest were now undeniable. The cloak that one of the soldiers had cast over him to hide his worst indignity did nothing to hide the marks around his throat, across his chest, across his feet. Aragorn turned away, unable to look any longer. Quietly he left, allowing a father to grieve.

An advisor came to Aragorn later that day, apologetic yet with his own pain in his eyes.

"I am the father of Elanor." He spoke after a long pause. "I come firstly to offer my thanks for your work to bring our children home." He bowed - deep and low. "Regretfully my King sends me hence on other business. A period of mourning is to start tomorrow. All those not of Mirkwood must leave the wood." He held up a hand to halt Aragorn's immediate protest. "We understand that the Noldor twins cannot be moved, but you are no longer needed here. Our own healers will care for them, you need not fear. We will expect you out of the wood by tomorrow morn, and you must not be seen back for fourteen days."

"Would it make any difference if I pleaded for my right to stay with my brothers?"

"This is our way, forgive us."

"There is nothing to forgive. Fourteen days then."

There was resignation in his eyes when Aragorn mounted and made his way to the gates the next morning. He had watched the elves pouring in earlier in the day and once he left he knew they would seal the gates behind him - saving some emergency - for the full fourteen days of mourning. A soft wind made the trees sing outside those gates and to Aragorn it seemed they were already mourning. Every time the elves of Mirkwood mourned - it struck him - they distanced themselves from the trees that supported them. He remembered tales of times when the trees would talk with the elves, and the elves would sing for the trees. Yet no more. What did the trees mourn for? Or who?


	10. Chapter Ten

"None can enter the Woodland Realm during the time of mourning." Even the guards sounded like they had been crying, and Elrond was close to full-fledged panic as he turned to face the voice that had spoken from the trees, fear bringing anger in its wake as he glared down at the figure in Mirkwood green and brown. He was fully aware of the arrows – still loose to the strings, but quite able to be drawn long before he could act to protect himself – all pointed towards him if he should dare try to bolt into the trees past them.

"Do you know me, Guardsman?" He knew he must look quite intimidating with his honour guard flanking him and his most belittling stare fixed upon his brow.

"Who you are is nothing to me, My Lord. None means just that. No person no matter their position." The guard replied, showing remarkable courage against the show of force.

He longed for Mithrandir's wisdom. Or at least his keen common sense. He would be able to talk these guards out of this curious defiance, and would have them leading them both peacefully into Mirkwood, mourning or no. It occurred to Elrond that announcing his identity would probably not help his case in the middle of Mirkwood.

"My sons are within your realm. I fear they are injured, for their horses returned home without them. I _must_ see them."

"You will wait here until the mourning is done."

"_Who_ do you mourn, Guardsman? How long must I wait?"

"A troupe of guards, seven in all, fell into the trap of Dol Guldur. They were brought home by a man, a stranger to our lands. Rumour says none survived."

"Soldiers are lost often in times of strife, this uncertain peace has been hard on all of us; why such severe mourning? Do your borders close every time you lose a soldier?"

"These were our youngest, and our best. It has been harsh on all, and there is cause for mourning. But… there have been other rumours…" Looking from side to side to ensure they were not being circled by foes as he talked to this newcomer, the soldier they had been speaking with stepped out of the trees.

"Tell me." Elrond urged.

"Rumours that say our Prince was among them." The guard allowed a moment for Elrond to absorb this news. "We have long known that he chose to join one of the guards; but which one is kept a secret, so that duties can be assigned without bias. His King does not approve of these actions; he would have him learning politics and law, not warfare. But Mirkwood has too much need for him to be turned down, and he is highly skilled and well trained. There has long been a rumour that he was invited into the troupe of young ones – our very best. The troupe that now lies in our Kings halls dead."

"Your… your youngest Prince?" Elrond brought himself to say.

"Mirkwood has only one Prince. The elder died shortly after the war of the last alliance. He was too young to see such grief, such immortal death." The soldier frowned at the elven lord. "Word is slow indeed to the Last Homely House if you have not heard this news." Elrond was startled for a moment before he realised that they were all wearing the colours of Imladris.

"Imladris has long been deaf to the word of Mirkwood."

"And yet you now come…"

"What do you know of those that returned? What of the man?"

"I know only what filters through as the guards change. I know only what others speak of."

"And what do others speak of?" The soldier looked away, composed himself.

"That the Prince knew the sons of Elrond… intimately. That they may have been with him in the end." A sideways look. The soldier knew who he was, Elrond realised, or thought he did and wanted confirmation. The look of horror on his face was probably enough to confirm it.

"Then they are… they did not…"

"Only seven were taken into the halls. Three more there were also, two were taken in haste to the halls of healing. I know one of those three was the man… there is a chance the others were… But I know little, and _none_ can enter into the woods in the times of mourning."

"How long must I wait? Would you send a runner for me? To ask your Kings permission to enter, and to plead for any news he might have of my sons and the man that returned his soldiers to him."

"Twelve days more, a fortnight from their return. After that we begin to rebuild lives that are broken and recover from this loss." A wave of his hand caused a rustle of leaves that was a messenger's departure.

"My thanks to you."

"Come. Share our camp. We will wait with you for news."

Regret now tainted the silence of contemplation that hung heavily between the twins. They knew that it had been their harsh words that had forced Aragorn into consenting to leave the wood, offering barely a word of farewell as he collected his belongings and rode for the border. Confusion brought new thoughts to them, for now it became obvious that if they were truly to strive for the light there was much that needed to be dealt with - wounds in their hearts that needed some treatment to stop them bleeding to death before they had a chance to heal.

Food was brought day after day, always with an invitation to join the King and his court for the next meal. Always turned down, the food often left untouched. Healers visited regularly to change dressings and check that healing was progressing. Though the flesh wounds were quick to disappear and fade to naught, still the wounds of the heart remained untouched, and only the oaths to each other held them to that path, forbidding their surrender. When alone they talked little, simply holding each other as they fought to conquer the most terrible pain of loss.

A week after Aragorn's departure they lay together, to find a release from the pain in the throes of passion. And for a time it seemed to work, and the pain seemed more distant. But it was soon revealed to be a temporary measure, and more temporary than most. When, nearing completion, Elrohir reached out for their third and had his hand close on naught but air, something caught on his heart as skin catches on a thorn. He screamed Legolas' name in climax, more pain than joy, and they came together in sorrow, Elladan wrapping his arms around Elrohir's middle as they sobbed for love lost.

Their eyes met, later, when the tears were finished for the day and both felt emptied and wrung out. It had felt like betrayal, they agreed, and silently promised that it would be done no more.

It was here that their fate was decided, for if no consolation or love can be found for the living after the love's death there is nothing but doom for them. Though there was still great love between the Peredhil twins, both needed more than the other to fill the wound left raw many centuries before.

They were shivering, as if humans wracked by chills. Elrohir lay curled in the lap of his brother, who sat in the corner of the room, supported by the two walls. And they shivered. Elrohir started as a pair of hands came into view, easing a thick blanket around their shoulders.

"It is not the cold that chills." Elladan spoke softly, looking up into the eyes of a father who had lost his son and felt the grief near as strong as they.

"I know. But a warm blanket is always a welcome comfort in times of strife, chill or no." Thranduil spoke, taking a seat nearby.

"Legolas… he used to hate leaving the bed each morn, for love of warm blankets." Elrohir fought the gathering tears with a clenched jaw. A splash of water on the crown of his head said that Elladan had been unable to restrain his.

"I have never had a chance to properly speak with you, sons of Elrond, for each time the name of your father got in the way of civil conversation. Now I think I have been unwise to allow such an age-old folly come between myself and those my son would love."

"There is time still, to ask what you would." Elladan acknowledged softly, understanding the contrition that brought the Elven-King to them.

"So little has been spoken, between the Woodland Realm and Imladris this last age. There is much I have missed in Middle Earth. I knew nothing of Elrond's sons until my son brought you to my doorstep with a guilty look in his eye."

"And nothing but love and innocence in his heart." Thranduil looked to Elrohir sharply then, but Elrohir's eyes were fixed upon the far wall, his mind reliving some horrific moment.

"Aye, he was innocent then, and thankfully so. Had he been born two and a half millenia earlier to my first wife he might have been witness to his brother's waning, and his mother's soon after. As a child of my second wife he has been more easily protected from such things. He was so young when his own mother fell to grief. Too young to remember."

"We had not known that you had lost your Queen in such a way." Elladan spoke into the pause left by the King, deep in his own thought for a moment.

"We know well of the grieving sickness in these halls." In these words there was a promise. Not of protection from the matters of heart that drew them into dark places, but for care and love whilst this journey took place. A small pocket of tension was loosened with those words, and a barrier of formality was brought down between the twins and the King.

"Our mother did not pass through her violation, though at times it seemed she might. She took another path to escape those thoughts that haunted her dreams."

"I have heard nothing of the wife of Elrond. Will you tell me of her?" There was a hesitation and Elrohir reached out to grasp Elladan's hand to his heart - a silent encouragement.

"We were all well in advance of 2000 years when the darkness came to our household. Our mother was waylaid on the snowy tracks of the Redhorn Pass by orcs. Her escort scattered and slain, she was taken and fearful torment was laid upon her… We retrieved her. All who had touched her were scoured from this land, but our father could not reach her, and she passed over sea a little less than a year later."

"Many were the years we spent grieving her loss," Elrohir took over, his voice soft. "Occupying our minds with battle, joining the Dúnedain against the orcs of the Misty Mountains. Striving to clear the passes again."

"Centuries of numbness, thinking of nothing but the sword, the bow, the enemy."

"That was no way to live." Thranduil spoke, breaking the twinned gaze and bringing their attention outwards once more.

"No, that was not living at all. We saw men come and go, love and lose, grow old and die before our eyes. Four generations of men fought alongside us."

"And it took us this long to find ourselves across the river, in to your lands and in to the arms of your son." They shared a smile at the thought of that first fateful meeting.

"We were retreating, the orcs had temporarily overwhelmed us." Elladan began speaking again slowly, unsure how these memories would come across at such a time, yet gathering momentum as a rock beginning a ponderous descent when it seemed that they were all desperate to talk of him - a near taboo topic. "We scattered into the trees as was out standard method of escape, but the orcs chose to follow us. We planned to rejoin the Dúnedain at the camp once we had lost the orcs. It was rare for them to be so determined, they followed us until dawn. We found we had crossed the ford and we were closer to your realm than home. Desperate for escape we headed for the trees, hoping to get under cover. As we approached arrows from your border guards cleared our retreat and we were accepted into your ranks for the day." The flow faltered, and Elrohir took over, his voice still dull and empty.

"We were offered treatment for our wounds and it was here that we met Legolas. He was barely eighty, yet carried himself like a warrior of many years more. It was only after all danger had passed that his true nature shone through and he was like a child again."

"Long did Mirkwood strive to protect her children from the darkness overtaking the south." Thranduil's voice startled them both from the shrinking world of the other's voice. "We did not wish to raise our children to the horror and pain of war. I lost my first daughter and son in the war of the last alliance. My wife soon after to the grief of the loss of my children. We isolated the woodland realm's children from the darkness, and yet as soon as they came of age they were thrust into it. We lost many youngsters before we realised that it was necessary to introduce them to the darkness, and train them to defend themselves against it to keep them safe when they were grown.

"Thus, training began at infancy. Soon we had created some of the best warriors this land had seen. Seven elves, the son of my second wife included, were brought up this way before the elves of this land decided that the forest was too darkened to take new life and nurture it as was needed. People think I know nothing of my son's actions because I have no wish to know. But how could I not? He and those few his age are those who's achievements are most bittersweet. We are so proud, and yet how can we be glad to see the innocents we have created turned into warriors of such formidable strength, such relentless fury?"

The next day, the twins woke from their extended slumber late in the day, the sun low and red-tinted as it caught through the drapes. Elrohir found his gaze drawn to the bedside table, where a parcel had been left. He reached over and drew a book out of the simple paper wrapping.

"What do you have there?" Elladan asked drowsily.

"'Firith has finally started,'" Elrohir read aloud, having opened the book to a random page. "'The leaves are turning, and I am to leave with the troupe tomorrow, a border patrol.'"

"His journals." Elladan smiled. "I remember him working on them once in Imladris." Elrohir turned a page, and his smile faltered as he read what was written there in the softened Tengwar scrawl that they knew so well.

"'Daef seems over excited, I think it is because Túrith is joining us. The two are very close.'" A glance exchanged.

"He _did_ know their names." Some how this brought a lump to Elladan's throat. "He would have wanted them to know, I would wager he did not even realise what appearance his misled sense of propriety was giving."

"They loved him just the same, and they will know now while they are together in Mandos Halls." Elrohir soothed, reaching out to cup Elladan's cheek and meet his eyes.

"Damn his hard-headed father and his principals."

"Gently, Dan. He has lost his son in this blackest shadow."

"And would he have, had it not been for his blindness?"

"Legolas would not have allowed himself to be coddled in such a way. We cannot blame Thranduil for this any more than we can blame Legolas himself."

"And why not, how easy it would be to blame his recklessness for this darkness. This fugue that settles over my mind."

"We can not blame him for something that was not in his power to avoid. There is naught to do now save accept what has happened and look to what will happen next."

Later that day the two were wrapped in a thick blanket once more on the soft seat as they worked their way through the most intimate notes of their lover, long before any of them had met Daefindir or Minastir.

"'Two Noldor elves, wounded, arrived in camp. Lors is treating their wounds. Lindir and Erestor, they are too like to not be twins. I think they are lying about their names."

"I don't even remember hiding our identities.'" Elladan spoke with a smile.

"You were unconscious, but the deception didn't last very long. You came round and announced both of our names almost simultaneously in one sentence. It was quite embarrassing."

"I wonder when he stopped carrying the journals with him?" Elladan wondered, relieved that it was them reading these words, not the orcs that had captured Legolas.

"This one is full, perhaps he had another with him. I wish we could have some way of knowing how they were captured."

"That was my thought."

"Perhaps after a little time we might be able to ask them." It was the first time either of them had voiced what their hearts had long known. Neither of them would see the next winter.

"Perhaps."


	11. Chapter Eleven

An elf - though seeming unfathomably strong and enduring to a human - does not have a bottomless supply of energy. It was something the twins were discovering, as weariness quickly overtook their bodies and senses. When Elrohir stumbled, Elladan caught him and dragged him along for a few steps before he could get his feet beneath him and rejoin the race. A glance behind them told them that the foul servants of the dark lord were less bothered by the chase than their quarry. Elrohir knew that they wouldn't last much longer if they continued in this fashion; Elladan was bleeding heavily from a head-wound and only determination - it seemed - was keeping him conscious and Elrohir himself had taken a near crippling blow to his leg, the pounding ache becoming more severe with every hurried step. He also knew that they were close to the eastern borders of the woodland that ran through the foothills of the Misty Mountains.

"Brother. To the left." He warned Elladan, before he made the sudden course change Eastwards and out of the forest. It was a risky action, for though he knew an elf could outrun a hoard of orcs over an open plain they were both injured and tired. He could only hope that a mad dash to the ford would give them enough time to evade their aggressors. He knew they needed only evade them until full dawn was reached, for the orcs had a great hatred of the sunlight and would often give up on prey once the sun had risen.

Desperation drove them on ever faster as the ford was sighted, the dewy grass grasping at their feet and the sky already showing the hints of the eagerly anticipated dawn. But too late… looking over his shoulder Elrohir found the orcs still nearing.

The nearness of their prey was obviously enough of a temptation for the orcs to resist their inborn drive to hide from the coming day for they presses on - now gaining on the lagging twins. Realising that their plan was failing they began to hunt for cover, but there was little hope. They were on the open floodplains of the Great River, cover was hardly at its best, and with the orcs so near… Sharing a despairing glance, they ran on towards the soft smudge of light that was growing on the horizon, a dark horizon of thick forest. Mirkwood.

Neither of them wanted to contemplate what might await them there. No word had been spoken between Mirkwood and Imladris since the start of the last age, and Lord Elrond remained tight-lipped when the cause was questioned. From what could be garnered through history books and rumour - some confrontation had occurred between their father and Thranduil after that disastrous charge of the Last Alliance, foolishly led by Oropher and his son as they tried to seize control of a situation where he was not in charge nor in possession of all the facts.

Because of this separation the twins had never met any of the woodland realm's people, and had no idea what to expect save what little they knew of the Sindarin elves of 'Lorien who denied any kinship with their northern cousins.

Still, the darkened wood offered their only hope - and they could only pray that they would open their borders to them, and that they would reach the wood before the orcs reached them.

Elrohir stumbled again and this time Elladan wasn't fast enough; he went down. There was a moment of absolute terror as Elrohir looked up to meet his brother's eyes and saw in them the closeness of the approaching orcs. Scrambling to his feet, he looked to the forest - too far - and grasped his brother's shoulder as they turned to face the hoard with swords in hand.

"We stand together." Elladan spoke into the silence before the storm as the orcs pounded towards them across the open ground. They fell comfortably into a ready stance - shoulder to shoulder with Elrohir left foot forward and Elladan right. They stilled themselves, not acknowledging the unbearable odds, waiting for the time to strike, and strike again, and keep striking until their inevitable deaths. Their thoughts did not linger on this ending, for to do so was to accept defeat and then they would not strike at all and simply wait for the end to come.

It was at the very last moment - even as they tensed for the first strike - that salvation came. A hail of arrows from the trees, deadly accurate, felling the first wave of orcs and leaving the twins momentarily baffled. The moment did not last long, as they turned once more and resumed their flight to safety, diving into the cover of the trees.

"Lindir? Lindir are you awake? It's Erestor." Elladan woke to the feeling of two strong hands on his shoulders and this most baffling statement. Opening his eyes slowly to defend against the throbbing headache that was pounding at his temples, he focused on Elrohir who was glaring meaningfully at him. "Lindir?" He asked again.

"Have you hit your head, Elrohir? I am Elladan, and you are definitely not 'Restor. He barely leaves the Valley these days, and I suspect he is probably quite safe at home." Elrohir tensed and grew still, and slowly Elladan became aware of other faces peering into his line of vision. Curious faces, not looking in the least bit welcoming. And even less so now, he realised a little belatedly, that he had identified them both.

There were seven of them, all carrying bows and knives slung across their backs. Elrohir's ankle had been bound and a poultice applied to Elladan's head wound. All in all they had been well cared for by the Mirkwood elves. And certainly they had saved their lives, driving off the orcs for the day. And yet all remained severely stoic, no twitch of emotion marring the seven identical scowls that encircled them, barring any escape.

"What do you want with us?" Elladan asked at last. "Are we prisoners here?"

"You have rested long. Darkness will fall soon, and the orcs will be on the hunt again." The elf that spoke was taller than the others, his hair black. Along with his bow he carried a thin sword at his side as opposed to the standard knives.

"Then let us be away, so that we might escape them."

"Certainly, you are free to go." No elf made to move.

"Then you will step aside."

"We do not wish to have to rescue you again." A different elf replied this time, a blond elf with laughter in his eyes despite his scowl. Across the circle, an elf turned abruptly and hurried into the wood. There was a moment of silence and then the elf that had spoken turned and followed him. Listening carefully to try and determine the reason for the sudden departures, Elladan was sure he heard… muffled elven laughter, light like that of an elven child. Sharing a glance with Elrohir to confirm what he had heard, he returned his attention to the dark haired elf.

"Enough of this charade." He called, smiling to reassure that no offence was taken. "Who are you to challenge us so?"

"We are the border guards, who will challenge all who cross our path, orc and elf alike."

"Though we tend to be more lenient with the elves." The second speaker returned with the young elf that had left first in tow. Both were straight faced, though blushed cheeks belied the earlier laughter. Finding his gaze lingering on that first deserter, Elladan took a moment to linger over the Sindarin/Silvan cross breed. The first difference had been seen even as he opened his eyes to the camp - the mixing of blond and dark hair to give several shades in between. This elf though, had hair of burnished gold, characteristic of his Silvan ancestors. The second it seemed was in the face and features. Elrohir and Elladan were set apart from other Noldor elves by their Adan heritage - giving broader shoulders and greater bulk - but still their features were of Noldor origin. This elf was quite different…

Becoming aware of his extended observations, the elf looked up and began to blush softly. Chastened, Elladan looked away.

He was innocent and sweet and _young_. Mostly young. Very young.

Elladan knew these were all reasons why he should pay no more heed to the laughing elf, but something was drawing him to the other, and it would not be denied.

Twelve hours was plenty of time to discover that his name was Legolas, that he was a prize winning archer, that he had never left Mirkwood, that his favourite colour was tan, that he was under two hundred (though he refused to specify), that his superior officer didn't like him talking to Elladan, and that Elrohir didn't either.

It would be over fifty years before they would see each other again. But their meeting would have repercussions throughout all of history.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Three days passed before Thranduil met with the twins again to talk. He visited them in their room - they could barely gather the energy to leave it any more and the healer's visits were nothing more than formality. There was nothing more they could do.

When the King entered the young elves' sanctuary one pair of grey eyes rose to meet his own, and he stepped into the room at their acknowledgement. He moved across the room to sit in the window seat, pushing the dark curtains aside to make room for his own form and letting light filter around him. The thin beams illuminated dust trails through the room and the Elven-King watched them with quiet curiosity.

"He does little but sleep, while I can barely shut my eyes in peace." The waking twin spoke. It was Elrohir, Thranduil realised he knew, while before he had made no attempt to discern between the two. It gave him a strange sense of achievement - as though he had finally done something to make it up to his son.

"We all deal with these experiences differently, it is the way of people that we are individual." Elrohir looked at Thranduil for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"We are one fëa… we are _not_ individual." He stated, seemingly curious that Thranduil did not already know it.

"Then you are showing the two facets of the same malady. It is naught to be scared of."

"Perhaps." There was a soft silence for several minutes, and Thranduil had returned to his study of the beams of dust as Elladan began to stir. Blinking into drowsy wakefulness he laid a soft kiss on his brother's forehead and turned to Thranduil as if he had always known he was there.

"My Lord." He spoke in a voice of sadness, for his sleep had not lifted his melancholy.

"My Son." Thranduil replied softly.

"What would you have of us, my lord?" Elladan asked when nothing further was said.

"A little more time to speak of things yet unspoken. Do you think you have some to spare?"

"For you, my lord, all of eternity." Elrohir spoke with sincerity.

"Do not offer what you do not have to give." Thranduil spoke, his tone strong as he met Elrohir's eyes in challenge.

"Then what time we may have, is yours." Elladan clarified. Thranduil nodded once, placated.

"I see you are weary, let me tell you a little of the family you should have been welcomed into had this been a less tragic tale."

"Aye, we would greatly like to hear of our Las' youth."

"That, I would say you know more of than I. But I will try." The King took a deep breath, and it seemed to the twins that in the halo of light through the window the robes and chains of leadership fell away from him and he was nothing but a bereaved father. His voice, as he began to speak, was tinged with sadness and loss. "The Last Alliance… I will begin here because what came before was the happiest I had ever been and still it is too bitter sweet to think of… the Last Alliance took from me my only daughter in battle, and my first son through grief - he was too young to see the losses of war - and later my wife through grief at the loss of our children. It took… my King, my father, and within the span of less than ten years all that my life had been was changed. I could not grieve myself - the wood was not strong enough to lose another sovereign and my people were near destroyed. All separations that we had imagined between Sindarin and Silvan were discarded, there were too few of us now to worry about such things. I took a Silvan Queen - a woman who I had long loved as a sister - and she and I began to encourage the rebuilding of our forest and its people. Perhaps… perhaps this was more a political match than one made for love, our forest was splintering apart with talk of abandoning the city, and only through a show of solidarity could we bring our two peoples together. Perhaps I did not give enough care to my second wife, having little time to spare around rebuilding a ravaged realm." A breath caught in Thranduil's throat and he turned for a moment to face the sun that warmed his back through the window. "The conception of our son was upon the eve of the decision that new life was in too much danger, than not even all of the training we could provide would keep our children safe in the coming storm. Many thought we had broken our own edict when Ardëa was seen to be with child. Unfortunate timing on our part." A flicker of a smile on the old elf's face, the twins sat forward on the bed, chins in hands, enraptured. "But they had long followed us, and thus, we were quickly forgiven. As the last-born, Legolas' birth was celebrated as none other, with hope and sadness. We all knew that there was a good chance that we would never see another generation of Mirkwood elves." The smile vanished. "I feared to lose him, my second son, and so I distanced myself. The life expectancy for a young elf in these lands is barely past his majority, but in distancing myself I caused a much greater harm. Ardëa began waning shortly after Legolas' birth. The darkness on the horizon left too big a shadow on her, and she could not hear her trees over it. The Silvans take such strength and joy in their trees and she could not reach them. The other Silvans said they could pinpoint the moment the wood discovered their Queen was dead. The wood hasn't spoken since.

"My son was brought up with his mother's bow in his hand and the forest in his heart. There is more Silvan in him than Sindarin, but I do not envy him that freedom… I did not envy him.

"They have the trees - own them in a way that cannot be equalled in elvendom. It is as though they live a second life as a greater entity - as one part of the Great Wood. It is as much pain as joy, for they feel if the wood loses a limb, or if the Darkness in the south chooses to clear an area. Before Linlas died… before my first son died, any one of the Silvan population would have told me what was happening in any part of my forest - they needed only touch a living bough. The trees are all connected, above ground, below ground. The forest withdrew after his death - he was strangely gifted for a Sindarin boy, or so they used to tell me. The wood took him as one of its own, and he gave as much as he took. He was too soft for war, I should have seen it…" Thranduil lapsed into silence for a moment. "The forest withdrew after his death, and it would only talk to Ardëa. Sauron's first incursion almost killed her, the forest cried out to her for help - but she was not strong enough, and we could do nothing as we were overrun. After her death… no one has heard its full song in a long time, even by elven reckoning. But still, the Silvans know its love. They move through the wood as though it were an extension of themselves. The love is not one-sided." Thranduil paused with a sigh, looking up as Elladan spoke:

"It always startled him to come across trees not mourning his mother and brother. We never understood why he found the song so surprising, growing up in a forest himself. Now it makes sense."

"I had wanted him to see true forests - Lórien, Fangorn, where speech is still free and unhindered. Much joy would he have taken from such a meeting." He replied, a smile ghosting over his features at the thought.

"It is had to forget his first speech with the trees of Rivendell. We had not realised how long the Mirkwood trees had been silenced - but now…"

"Now we wish we had taken him to those places, helped him discover them."


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Pretty soon you'll be able to remember him

Lying in the garden singing

Right where he'll always be

The door is always open

This is the place that I loved him

And these are the friends that he had

Long may the mountain ring

To the sound of his laughter

And he goes on and on

In his soft wind I will whisper

In his warm sun I will glisten

'Till we see him once again

In a world without end

Crowded House, She goes on (slightly altered to fit)

All elves go through a period in their lives in which they feel a desperate need to test their own boundaries. Some reach this time earlier in their immortal lives than others, and for some it is over quickly. The rumour was that the Peredhil twins had yet to leave it after near a century and a half of trouble-making…

Perhaps it was the knowledge that, as elven kind, they had an eternity of life before them that drove the elven youth to such extremes. Fear of the great emptiness of time driving them into a reckless search for things to fill it. Regardless of the reason, the prompt for this behaviour is often reaching the age at which their parents saw fit to unleash them upon the world. Luckily elves are resilient creatures, else not many would survive past this tumultuous age.

Legolas decided that he would celebrate his coming of age and release from his Father's care by riding at full speed through the main highways of Dol Guldur. He exited the south of the forest with sixteen wargs, twelve orcs and a Nasgûl on his tail, completely out of arrows. Unable to return north, he rode west with the vain hope of elven aid from Lórien… not having the slightest idea where Lórien might be found.

It was several days later when, exhausted, horse and rider sought sanctuary in the trees of the valley that contained Rivendell, the Last Homely House shadowed in magic by the power of its Lord.

Elladan and Elrohir were riding a patrol around the outer boundaries of the forest when they came across the bedraggled horse and rider.

"Legolas?" Elladan asked, hurrying forward as the dishevelled soldier came into view. "What are you doing here? What happened to you?"

"As you once sought sanctuary in my lands, so I come to you." A wry smile crossed tired features. "It is strange fortune that brings us together in such a way again, don't you think?"

"What terrible event in Mirkwood brings you to us in such a state?" Elrohir demanded, catching up with his brother.

"At least we did not come upon you half in a faint." He continued, as though he hadn't heard the question. His mare stumbled alarmingly, suggesting that perhaps this was not completely true. The twins quickly slipped from their mounts and moved to Legolas' side to help him from the ailing horse. Elrohir stopped short as he came along side the travelling elf.

"Legolas, you have an _arrow_ in you." He spoke, dumbfounded.

"Oh yes… that…" And with that Legolas fell into a dead faint, toppling into Elladan's arms.

He awoke several hours later in a soft bed in a room filled with light. A soft breeze shifted thin curtains in and out of his line of sight. He gasped in awe as he sat up to take in the whole room, elegant carvings running up every pillar and support, tapestries on every flat surface depicting everything from battles to rural scenes.

"Such a room must be unfamiliar to an elf such as yourself, I would think. The halls of Mirkwood have rarely been well decorated." The voice made him jump, and he was immediately on his face and facing the intruder who had been sat by his bedside. "Calm, child. I am no threat to you." Intelligent brown eyes examined him from head to toe from behind long black tresses knotted in a style Legolas had never seen before save on two elves. An Imladrian style, he had no doubt now. "Sit down child, before you break that wound open again." Legolas obeyed, curious. He knew he had shown no signs of pain as he had stood, how did this elf know that standing would stretch the wound?

Lord Elrond - for this is who it was - allowed the woodland elf his own observations and then spoke again. "My sons brought you to me today, exhausted, dehydrated and near starved. My border guards came across an equally faring group of orcs and wargs. Would you like to explain these two things to me, young elf of the woodland realm?"

"Well, my lord. As you know your sons made a short visit to my realm, and being so enraptured by their company I thought I might visit your own fine home."

"And your pursuers?" Elrond could not hide a flicker of humour.

"Ah…"

In borrowed clothes while his were washed and mended, Legolas wandered through the halls seeking a stairway or door that would take him to the outside. Frequent open windows revealed that he was not below the ground and so he took as many downwards stairs as he could find, yet still an exit eluded him. Coming out of a hall onto a wide balcony, Legolas looked down to find half of his searched-for duo. He stumbled for a moment over which name to call, until propriety took over and he was reminded of the rather unfavorable age difference between them.

"My Lord!" He called down, for he was still more than two floors up. It took a moment for Elrohir to spot the speaker, but soon he was grinning up at him.

"You're up! How are you?" He called back up.

"Dreadfully lost." Came the reply. "How do I get out of here?"

"Wait there. I'll come to you."

It was with a whoop that Legolas broke away from Elrohir as they stepped out through the door into the gardens of Imladris. The river, which seeped into the deep valley from every conceivable corner of the plane above, ran through a wide floodplain populated by more species of tree, plant and wildlife than Legolas had seen in one place before in his life. It was not until he dove into the nearest tree - seeking the soothing song of nature that had called him so temptingly from his bed - did Legolas realise what treasure there was in this place, never before heard by the young elf. When the tree whispered a joyous greeting, he nearly found himself back on the ground.

"Dear Oak. Do you speak?" He whispered, clinging to the branch that had halted his fall. A laughter that seemed to speak more to his heart than his ears lit up his face.

"Young one." A hundred thoughts of caring, nurturing…an acorn in the ground.

"Your forest is sorrowed." The darkened pines of Mirkwood, howling in the wind, crying in the night.

"The elves are sundered." The waning of a bright energy, the life of the stars, green life without the sun…

Tears graced Legolas' face, as he truly realised what pain his kin felt whilst staring into the trees, waiting for some call, some acknowledgement. He had not lived in a time when the trees of Mirkwood were kin to the elves, but there were few others who had not. What terrible loss he understood now and how he wished he had learned nothing of it. How could he leave this place with a forest of trees to talk to? What possessed the woodland realm to hold strong and not seek out new lands, new kin-forests?

"My mother, and brother. The forest mourns them."

"Your father stays to comfort Mirkwood." The image of his father walking through the forest every day, touching the bark of every tree they came across. Whispering reassurances as he might to his own son. A young Legolas, not understanding the gesture, not understanding his father's love of a forest silent and forbidding…

"One day, the forest will forgive." The brightness of his father's light seeping from himself and out into the trees, lighting the way. The forest aglow with life, with hope… The joy in his heart at such a sight.

"I have hope for that day."

Dropping out of the tree, he came face to face with the twins and fought not to laugh at the identical looks of bewilderment as he swiped away tears, unable to stop smiling. As he leapt past them across the garden and tumbled to a stop on the sweet soft grass, bursting into an ancient song in Silvan to welcome the forest into a new day, the twins shared a glance.

"Hmm. I take it he's feeling better then?"


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Lors, runner of the fourth border guard, knowledgeable in the healing arts and once impromptu healer to the twin sons of Elrond Peredhil, had been hurrying towards the palace for three days. Thankful he had not been further south, he knew he still had three days travel ahead of him and paced his mount. Pausing upon reaching a tributary of the Great River to allow his mare to drink, Lors froze as he heard a second set of hoof-beats coming towards him. Shaking off the surprise he moved into the foliage to see who approached. A man, he realised as he came into sight. Was it not a man that the stranger on the western borders was looking for? He dropped out of the tree and into the man's path.

Cúdîn pranced a little as the elf dropped unexpectedly into his path, but Aragorn's soft hands soothed him.

"I make my way towards the borders as commanded, what is your purpose here?"

"I know nothing of the commands you are given, man. Only that there is a stranger on the western border desperate for any information regarding the recent events at the palace. Especially of a man and two elves of Rivendell." Shock rang in Aragorn's eyes.

"You must take me to him!"

"I cannot. I have orders of my own. But I will direct you."

o

o

The interring of each of the young elves took place separately, with only family and close friends present. For the Prince of Mirkwood, however, the trees filled with the people of Mirkwood. All kept their distance, only close enough to hear the ceremony, and not interfere with the proceedings. Elves wept, and soldier's faces were grim. Elladan and Elrohir sat beside each other in the grass at the base of a huge and ancient Elm tree. Three more ancient Elms stood around them, and a fifth stood nearby, a younger tree, this one, less weary of its age. These trees were obviously imported, the only elms for miles around all in a cluster, so close that as they grew their furthest branches and deepest roots were interwoven. These were the trees of the royal family of Mirkwood. Oropher, and Thranduil's only daughter, fallen in the Battle of the last alliance. His wife and son soon after through grief. Four trees still strong after millennia of growth, the elven form buried in their roots still supporting their life. Ardëa, her own tree barely three hundred years old, yet older than all of the pines around - who had grown and aged and failed before being replaced by their offspring. The graves of the elves - encased in no wooden box, trapped in no tomb - served to nurture new life as they returned to the ground.

In clothes green and tan, the twin elves sat, with leaves on their brows. For today, they were family.

A hole was dug in silence and Legolas brought out on a wooden bier covered with a white cloth. With great care Thranduil moved from where he had stood at the twin's side, and approached his son for the last time. He lay five elm seeds, one in the hollow of his throat, one over each eye, one over the hands that lay folded together at his waist and one over his heart. Only one elm tree would grow, and this would dictate which virtue he took most strongly into Mandos' Halls, should he be chosen to be born into Middle Earth once more. Thranduil had little hope of that though, and simply took comfort in the reassuring familiarity of the ceremony. Four guards took hold of the corners of the white sheet and, lifting in unison, bore his body to its waiting grave.

Elladan and Elrohir watched with dry eyes and drawn faces, their entire being focused on the slim form disappearing from sight. When the soil was shifted to cover his body, they looked away.

The entire process had taken place in silence, and now a soft breeze brought a susurrus of noise to the trees. As though joining it, the words were barely whispered at first. A thousand elven voices whispering words that all hoped never to have to speak again. Above it all, lifting, guiding, the King's voice rose to the canopy. Elladan and Elrond did not know what words they spoke in the older tongue, the tongue of an elven race whose conception was with the trees, the forest. It almost seemed as though the voice of the forest - so long silent - joined the King in bidding farewell to his last heir.

o

o

"My lord Elrond. The relief in Aragorn's voice was palpable as he bowed to the Lord of Imladris. "You have need to come to the City immediately. There is no time for…" He was inturrupted as a great wave of noise engulfed the forest. Uncertain, Aragorn looked to Elrond to find a look of terrible sadness upon his face. "No…" He whispered, dreading that he was too late. The word was lost in the cries of the forest. The elves heard more than just noise in that rush of tree-music. He watched as two of their guards collapsed together in tears of mourning, praying for the song to stop, dreading what it might mean. Elrond had his eyes closed when the trees quieted again, his face drawn.

"The funeral of the Prince." He sighed as he opened his eyes. "May his tree grow strong, and his soul be well rested in Mandos' Halls. May Mandos' grant his return to us, if this is his path." Gathering himself, he mounted quickly. "Come. There is no time." Gesturing to his guard, well prepared for the anticipated advance, Elrond mounted and spurred his horse forward. The Mirkwood guards, their heads still bowed, allowed them to pass.

o

The journey that had taken the fleetest Mirkwood runner six days to complete became three as the horses were driven desperately forward. No words were spoken - none were needed. The situation was dire, and that was all that could be said. Nights became nothing more than a time when they slowed to a walk to avoid trips or stumbles, no more time could be spared. When one of the horses dropped dead from exhaustion, the five guard were left behind with two horses as Elrond and Glorfindel continued on with four in hope that changing mounts regularly would allow them to conserve a little of the other's strength.

Desperate, Elrond prayed as he rode onwards.

"Let them live…"


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Author's notes: All talk of Legolas of Gondolin will be as cannon (that is Lost Tales cannon) as possible, despite cannon having been abandoned for this story. I have of course taken much from implication and from my own mind to fill in the gaps. We only saw him once, and he was fleeing a massacre at the time, so we can't claim to know a lot about him. We do know that he was called by the Eldarissa (is this the old form of Quenya, does anyone know?) form of his name after the fall of Gondolin. That is Laiqalassë, in case you were wondering. The rebirth of Glorfindel is also still a topic for discussion amongst Tolkienites. Personally I love the idea, and so will be using it. But you have to bear in mind that Glorfindel was a great lord, and Laiqalassë little more than a keen-sighted and useful footsoldier. Interesting that their roles are reversed in their second incarnations, though Glorfindel is still a powerful elf.

Hopefully all questions regarding the ceremony in the last chapter will be explained here.

Another Note: This chapter owes its conception to SESSHYANGEL, my darling beta. You're a genius honey, don't deny it. :P

o

o

o

Elrohir was still wondering quite why he felt so very betrayed. It wasn't as if Elladan was spending any less time with him. It wasn't even like he had any demands over his twin's time. Valar knew they needed some time apart occasionally. But did he have to be so very… affectionate with the young elf of Mirkwood?

A gentle hand was laid upon his shoulder and he looked up into the pale blue-grey of Glorfindel's eyes, his face surrounded in a halo of gold. Together they turned back to observing the pair in the forest, challenging each other in archery. Neither could deny that Legolas was an impressive shot, and cast a dashing figure in his Mirkwood greens and browns, bow in hand and a soft frown on his brow as he lined up the shot in one easy movement.

"I often wonder if the Valar meant for him to return to this world with a bow in his hands. Laiqalassë was deadly with a sling in his hands and a pocket full of iron or rock. But they do not use the slings in Mirkwood, and the bow is the nearest equivalent. There is no doubt that this is where his tree grows, in the palms of his hands." Elrohir looked up at the defender of Imladris.

"Of what do you speak, my Lord Glorfindel? What tree is this, who is Laiqalassë?"

"Come Elrohir. Let me tell you a tale." Quietly he led him away from the field, encouraging him to sit beside him on the grass. "When an elf of Sindar blood is buried there is a ritual to guide his path into Mandos' Halls and ensure that he arrives with some vestige of his previous life. Elm seeds are placed over those places where that elf's talents lie - his heart for courage, his head for cleverness, his lips for a sweet voice, his hands for skill in wielding some weapon or other, and over his eyes for a keenness of sight... Only one tree grows, taking new life from life now passed into the next world, and that sapling determines which aspect of themselves that elf is allowed to take with them if they are ever returned to Middle Earth. I passed through Mandos' Halls on the night that Gondolin fell, and was returned to Middle Earth many centuries later, when your father had need of me. Before I left the halls I found Laiqalassë, Legolas of the House of the Tree, of Gondolin, an elf of Sindarin birth, in the halls. As a came across him I realised that his hands glowed with a bright strength, and that confused me greatly. When I questioned him he cupped his hands together and there I saw a great Elm growing and remembered the ritual of the Sindar. The skill he had always held in his hands would follow him into the next life, and yet he seemed sad. When I asked him what he felt he had lost, what thing he mourned, he spoke of the nightsight that he had once possessed, the gift that had allowed him to lead our people from Gondolin to safety. He had hoped he would take that into the next life, and feared the darkness his next incarnation would have to live in."

"What is this information to me, Glorfindel? It is obvious that Legolas – if he is the reincarnation you speak of - has put his skilled hands to great use, and does not appear to me to be afraid of the dark…"

"You are not listening, child." Glorfindel hissed in anger. "You will listen, because one day this will be important to you, and I would ask you not to forget that." Glorfindel took a deep breath, recomposed himself. "Why I am trying to explain to you is that sometimes things are taken from you that you would rather not give up. Only through fighting for what we have may we keep those things we treasure." Elrohir met Glorfindel's eyes.

"You think I will lose Elladan to this… this child?"

"If you do not fight for him." Glorfindel confirmed. "Though who knows what might happen if you chose to fight…" With this cryptic comment, the blond haired defender rose and walked sedately away. He paused before he was out of earshot. "Do not think to predict the heart, young Elrohir. Sometimes it is a fickle thing."

o

Unexpectedly, it was Legolas that first approached him, while he was still searching some way of confronting his brother about the whole thing. The blond elf strolled to his side, filled with feline grace and near bouncing with the energy only seen in the very young. Slouching into the chair beside him, a mocking yawn and stretch left a long body draped across his lap. Elrohir blinked, bewildered. Had he been mistaken for his brother? A wave of ire rose up. Normally he could brush off an accident such as this as one of the dangers of looking identical to another elf, but right now he wasn't in the mood to be mistaken for his flirtatious brother.

"Legolas." He spoke up.

"Elrohir." He sang back. The retort was swallowed as he sought for something to say. Legolas grinned, knowing he had stumped him. "It seems to me, Elrohir," He emphasised his name again, teasing. "That I have seen entirely too little of you these last few days. Is there something wrong?"

"Get off my lap." The brusque reply was anything but friendly. Legolas sat up and turned, tucking one leg beneath him so that he could face Elrohir.

"I don't intend to take your brother from you, you know. He loves you more than he could ever love another. I only hoped that… that perhaps you could accept me as a suitor to your brother." The serious tone almost brought Elrohir to hysteria. Whether in tears or laughter, he wasn't quite sure.

"You're welcome to my brother, Legolas. I was growing weary of him anyway." He was quite proud of how little his voice broke as he said it, and yet he jumped as Legolas leaned towards him to swipe a tear from his cheek.

"Why do you have such a fear that I will take him from you?" There was a softness in that question, such softness that Elrohir pulled his gaze back up from the ground and met those clear blue eyes. "You treat me like a challenger for his love."

"Is that so hard to understand? Is what we are so terrible to the outside world, what we do…" Elrohir stammered into silence and then stood suddenly, shaking off Legolas' hand that had fallen to his wrist.

"Elrohir…"

"Perhaps my brother has realised it is distasteful to him too. I surrender him to you, Legolas. For you have won him from me fairly." And Elrohir melted into the trees, Legolas left with his hand outstretched as though it would call him back, still processing what had been said.

"Oh my…"

o

"Is what we have so disgusting to you now, that you would not even tell him of it?" Elladan looked up from the wax that he was working into his bow, into his brother's raging eyes.

"Elrohir?" He asked, confused. "What do you speak of?"

"Legolas, gwanur. Your new paramour. You. Did. Not. Tell. Him. About. Us." He emphasised every word with a poke to Elladan's shoulder.

"Of course not, 'Ro. What is it to him?" Elrohir laughed out loud at that, a sharp pained laugh.

"He sought permission to court you today." He replied tersely. "I gave him it."

"He is a child looking to play with the adults." Elladan paused, took in the pained look in Elrohir's eyes, the tense posture. "Why are you taking this so to heart, 'Ro? Why did you not just tell him yourself?"

"Because…" He sighed. "Because he is more than a child in your eyes, 'Dan. You love him, care for him in a way that I do not understand."

"It means nothing, 'Ro. My heart, my body, my life, they are yours, not his."

"I have given you an opportunity, dear brother. Take it, and make of it what you may. I give you all the blessings in the world." Elladan could not call him back in time, and Elrohir whirled out of the door.

o

"Why didn't you tell me? What a fool I have made of myself." Elladan was forced to look up again from his mistreated bow, and this time he put it aside with a sigh, knowing this talk would take some explaining.

"Forgive me. I did not realise you looked at me that way, Legolas, else I would have told you earlier of what I shared with my brother."

"I fear I have greatly offended him, and I can find no hide nor hair of him to apologise to."

"You are braver than I, for I have also offended him, and I plan to hide for as long as it takes for him to cool down." Elladan laughed with the Mirkwood elf, sobering slowly with the knowledge that this moment would change all of what was to come.

"I cannot separate you, I will leave as soon as Lord Elrond gives leave."

"No, please… you have no need to…"

"I cannot separate you." He repeated.

"Then join us." Legolas choked for a moment, the retort so unexpected. From the look in Elladan's eyes it was a surprise to him too.

"Elrohir hates me."

"Elrohir is not _capable_ of hate, Legolas. It is not in his nature. He is only fearful that you will take me away from him."

"I cannot…"

"You _can_."

o

"Elrohir?" Elladan hadn't been here for more than a century, though he knew his brother was a frequent visitor. It was a talan built in the style of Lórien, the long staircase coiling around the largest oak in Rivendell in the absence of the huge Mallorn trees found in their grandmother's realm. Long had it been their haunting grounds as children, and now it was Elrohir's sanctury. The one place to find him when he was troubled.

There was a shuffle and a rattle of branches disturbed above him, and he realised that Elrohir had moved off the platform and into the boughs above it.

"Sometimes I'm sure you're a wood elf in disguise." He called up.

"You're the expert on woodelves, dear brother." Came the bitter reply. "You would know."

"Get down here, Elrohir, before I become angry." A head appeared in the branches above him, Elrohir hanging from his knees.

"Ha!" Was his only comment before he pulled himself back up into the branches and disappeared once more.

"I am nothing without you, Elrohir." Silence. The trees stilled around him as he opened his heart to them, begging their aid. "My bed is empty without you. The hunt is boring without you, conversation is silent without you. Something draws me to Legolas, I cannot deny it. Some foreshadowing of a future fate shared, perhaps." Elladan frowned, for that was a thought that had come directly from his heart and not via his brain, something he had not considered. "The only thing I have wished for these last few days was that you might join me in this affection for him. Might see what I see in him." He looked up as Elrohir dropped onto the decking.

"And what would that change, brother? Were we both to lust over him it would tear us apart in jealousy."

"You mean to say that we are not torn apart, brother? Though still you stand out of arm's reach."

"What would you suggest? I cannot sit on your arm as you woo another."

"He needs no wooing, Elrohir. He would prostrate himself at our feet if he thought it would ease this tension between us."

"I never thought such an image would _excite_ you so, Elladan. What a dominant nature is being revealed."

"No, indeed, my nature is nothing but _giving_… sharing." He put a little extra emphasis on that last word. "I know you fancy him, Elrohir. You are too like me not to."

"You overestimate our similarities." Elrohir murmured in reply, his thoughts far distant.

"Liar." A hiss, with a smile behind it, teasing, aggravating. He knew now that there was little chance he would not get his way. "Come… let us set this whole thing right, and leave what follows thereafter to the fates."

o

o

What cruel humour, the fates…


	16. Chapter Sixteen

AN: There's the ittyest bittyest little mention here of Thranduil having some power over souls. This has not been pulled from the ether – there's quite a few mentions in the Hobbit of the Elven-King's magical powers. The enchanted stream, for example, is supposed to be his doing. Go read Narcolinde's "Feud" (patiently, it's long, but gripping) and she explains all of these things beautifully. Unfortunately, due to the bastards at fanfic dot net, Narcolinde has been evicted, but you can find her fic on adult fan fic dot net.

AN2: You may be relieved or disappointed to hear that this fic is nearly over. I would really like to hear from you if you're still reading, as it gives me a judge as to whether or not you all hate me for killing off Legolie so quickly. Thanks!

And on with the show…

o

o

Elrohir ran delicate fingers across his brother's brow, the weight in his heart feeling as though it would pull him through the bed and to the floor. He was jealous of his brother, for his ability to sleep through this, to forget the world around him if only for a short time. To be able to dream of him. The world seemed so slow to him, every moment an hour of torture. Elladan woke slowly, his eyes still fluttering open yet already filled with tears. He had dreamt of him again, and woken to find him still gone. What torturous things, dreams.

"I should think…" Elrohir spoke, a soft realisation coming to him and stirring his heart to beat a little faster. "I think it would be nice to see the end of a rainbow."

"Only the middle is visible, Elrohir. All else is out of reach." Elladan replied, voice still groggy with sleep.

"Precisely, the end would be a discovery, always hidden from sight behind hill or woodland. Maybe you have to find the end before you truly see them middle. Maybe once we have found our ends, we will meet again, 'Dan. In the middle of the rainbow."

"You're not making any sense, 'Ro. We go to the same end, together." The slightest hint of panic began to tinge his words.

"Perhaps this time we must seek our own paths." A murmured reply. "In the middle, brother. I will await you there." And Elrohir died, leaving his brother, one half of a twinship, to live on alone.

o

'To decide one fate and leave the other in question… what pitying god would do this? These are twins, their feä's bound with more than blood…' Thranduil's thoughts raged as he held Elladan, the elf screaming as his soul was hewn apart. He could beg no reverie to take him, unconsciousness was out of reach. He could only hold him until the pain began to fade and numb. And when would that be? Could he sit here forever, holding the failing body of the Imladris prince as he screamed his pain to the Valar, and cursed their names?

Gradually Elladan calmed, numbness taking over, and the screams faded as his voice began to break. Thranduil wondered - hoped, secretly, though it was not in his nature - if he might just slip away in that moment and follow his brother home. He begged the gods silently for relief on behalf of this child who he might have called son. They did not answer.

"I have always been the stronger - the more adan." Elladan's voice was rough and broken from the outpouring of emotion, but he continued, the words cleansing. "Emotion had less sway for me than for my brother, and he always heard the voices of the trees while I had to listen very hard to catch their words."

"Elladan…"

"Why did they take him from me? What if I am too much a man to fade from grief? I feel so weary, so very fatigued, and yet he…"

"There is nothing we can do but see what the future holds. If you are to live past this the Valar must have a good reason." Even as he spoke the words he felt their untruth like an unravelling string in his mind. Elladan's life, like an unravelling string…

"How do men live with this feeling? How can they possibly survive…"

"Rest now, Elladan. Sleep." Thranduil urged, taking the little power he held over souls, and giving a little push. "Elrohir waits for you."

Even as Elrond and Glorfindel reached the gates, Elladan shut his eyes and with a deep sigh went peacefully to his end, seeking the rainbow.

o

o

Elrond was enraged as he stormed through the halls of Mirkwood, seeking their King. Few words had been spoken when he had arrived, but the sense of grim sadness clung to all that they passed. A maid hurrying out of a room stopped dead as she saw him approach, and mutely pointed to a door behind her, her face white, her eyes filling. Her message delivered, she fled in tears.

It was with a heavy weight in his heart that Elrond moved forwards, his hand reaching out to the door as though pushing through some thick and clinging mist, one that existed only in his mind. He was on his knees even as the door opened, his heart failing at the scene that awaited him there.

"I had no desire to take them from you, or keep you from them. Fate has led us along this most darkened path, and I fear there were too many misunderstandings." Thranduil's voice was hoarse and low as he bent to lay a kiss on Elladan's forehead and laid him upon the bed so that he might greet Elrond.

"What has happened here…?" Elrond's voice failed him, and he got to his feet heavily.

"Grief, for the loss of my son, their love. No good has come from these days, these confrontations. No good at all."

"As it is always, as it was in the days of old. Miscommunication is the most powerful weapon the enemy has against us."

"And it has cost us our sons."

Elrond fought the sob that rose up in his throat. "Perhaps." He choked out. "Or perhaps their fate was already sealed. Perhaps what it cost us was the last days of their lives. The ability to spend it with them."

"Manwë guide you, Elrond of Rivendell." With one swift moment Thranduil caught Elrond in arms, forgetting their enmity, giving, receiving, sharing their grief. "And may Namó protect our sons now, for they are far from our reach."

o

o

If only the peace could have lasted as such. But old hatreds are hard to shift, and a new problem arose that brought all that history back into place.

"I just wish to get my sons out of this dark and evil place." Thranduil glared, a sight that would have withered most others, but Elrond stood tall against it, sneering back.

"This wood is my home, Peredhil."

"It turns against you, isolating you in the northern half, hiding your gaze from the dark power within."

"And yet your sons choose to spend so much time here?" Thranduil's smile was not friendly.

"Because you oft refused to allow your son away from his duties. You had him on a tight leash, King, else I think he might have spent equal time in my country."

"You are mistaken. His leash was not tight enough if it would allow this to happen."

"You could not keep him from harm forever."

"Bold words, for a Lord with still one of his children remaining. You have your daughter, Elrond, to continue your rule. I had only Legolas, and can hope for no more now that his mother is passed."

"You are mistaken. My daughter's end will be with a foreign king, in a far land. He will have too many worries to think of Imladris." Elrond said nothing of the fact this King now rested in the Elven-King's halls. Nothing is ever certain, and it is no place of the far-sighted to tell the world which way to turn.

"Then it is a sad pair of Kings we make, knowing our futures rest on naught but our own selves."

"Let me take them home."

"Please, let them rest beside Legolas. They have long fought to be at his side."

"They are my children. I would have them with me when I sail west. They are not Sindar to be buried with ritual and farce."

"They are lovers, to be buried with the one they should have spent their life with." Elrond made a move to object once more, but was pulled back as Glorfindel appeared. A chance at a second life, a tree to worship their last resting place, the arms reaching out to touch as roots intermingled. And why not. Why should they be taken from the lands they loved, the people they loved. Tears fell. Reluctantly, he met Thranduil's eyes.

"Forgive me, and let them rest here. Let the arms of the lovers' trees entwine. Let them be together, for this is the right place for them to be."


	17. EPILOGUE

A rainbow…

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Some how he knew that was important.

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In a world of white mist, though… how was he to find a rainbow here…?

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He went to sigh, and the deep breath he took was damp and…

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Not mist… a cloud…

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And in the clouds…rainbows are born!

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He started running.

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He almost fell over a still form that lay upon the ground… if it could be called that. Though there was no sign of a rainbow he turned with excitement, still not sure who he was looking to find. The slim form, all clothed in green and tan, looked up at him and lifted up on his elbows to get a better look. It wasn't who he was looking for, though still he couldn't recall who he _was_ looking for. Still upon seeing that figure his heart leapt in his chest and he swooped down to embrace him, some memory of past separation making him reluctant to let go.

"He won't come down." The slim form observed quietly, returning that embrace and burying his face in long black hair. "Not until you go and meet him." He looked up, and his questioning gaze was diverted upwards along the other elf's line of sight. A broad rainbow sat in pure-blue skies over his head, a marked shadow in its middle was a waiting form. Waiting for _him_. He needed to reach him, _had_ to reach him, but…

"How…?" The words were only just remembered, communication a new idea.

"You must find the end. _Your end_. That is the only way. Only once you find it can you reach him once more, be reunited." There was sadness in his eyes, a shadow of knowledge. He left the elf with a final hug and a big smile. "I'll be there waiting."

He was running again, following the line in the sky above him as it curved into the distance. But what a fickle distance. As soon as he felt sure he had travelled far enough he would look up and still the rainbow would be no nearer, end or centre.

Looking again to the midpoint on that beautiful arch, he saw that waiting figure. Sitting, he buried his head in his hands.

"Forgive me. I cannot find my way to you. I cannot find my end." He sobbed into his hands.

"Then you have seen before I could, my brother." A sigh, a hand on his shoulder, another around his waist, filling him with the warmth that had been sapped away by the cloud. "There is no end for the Firstborn, only the cycle of life."

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He opened his eyes to a cavern delved into warm-coloured rock, great pillars around him stretching from floor to far distant roof. Two pairs of hands were lifting him from the ground even before he had come fully into consciousness. His heart knew who they were before his mind could register that he had pulled them both into a tight embrace against him.

"Elrohir. Legolas." He sighed in contentment. "I feared I had lost you both forever, doomed to walk Middle Earth until mortality came to claim me and take me Manwë knows where."

"Peace, Elladan. You are with us now." There was a smile in Elrohir's voice and as Elladan moved away he saw a strange thing. Legolas' heart was beginning to glow as though some bright inner light had been lit beneath his skin, and from it a tendril of bright light spread out to touch Elrohir's heart, where another bright glow began. And then they turned to Elladan and two hearts touched his own. The warmth as that light flickered into life was beyond description, and his soul sighed with contentment.

"How…" He whispered.

"It seems our fathers may have found some measure of peace between them." Legolas was enraptured by the thin strands. Thin… but so strong. He looked up at this though.

"You think my father would have suggested this…?"

"He loved you, Legolas." Elrohir spoke seriously, a hand coming up to gently cup a cheek. "And was so filled with sorrow upon your death that I fear he wavered on the edge of grief himself. Yet he took time to comfort us, and guide us to the end. He may have never spoken it to you aloud, Legolas, but he wanted nothing more than your happiness." Tears welled.

"I think he finally gave his acceptance to what we had, and this was his last message to you." Elladan finished.

"Side by side, in Middle Earth and beyond." This thought seemed to hold such ecstasy for him, and he pulled the twins to him once more. There was fire in his eyes as he pulled away, and the other two caught on quickly. They fell upon one another with joyful abandon, and celebrated what was still to come.

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SesshyAngel - my divine darling. You have pulled me through this. You're a gem, I'll get that next fic to you as soon as I pull my ass back out of X-men world. ;)

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oAN: in response to the reviews I begged for.

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Blaise: Thanks so much for your unwavering support! It means a lot to me

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Ravna: This is it I'm afraid. Though they might be returned to middle earth in the future I don't intend to follow that. I did have an interesting thought at one point though – the Legolas we meet in the film has blue eyes, and knows a lot more about Aragorn's origins than we expect him to… have a think about that…

I wasn't suggesting that Glorfindel has a lower stature, only that Legolas has a higher one. And I did go searching for information regarding rebirth, and came up with all the facts you put forward. But may I suggest that the Valar might have meddled, knowing that Legolas of Gondolin, having seen the ORIGINAL 'white city' fall, might have less hope for the outcome of the War Of The Ring, and the saving of Minas Tirith. Hence they may have taken those memories from him when he was reborn, to help him through that trial, to give him more hope. A musing of my own.

Thanks very much for reading, for taking the time to give such a detailed review, and for your compliments.

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Ariadne: hands you a tissue - thanks so very much for the review. It means a lot to me that I have been able to touch you like that.

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And one last thanks to anyone who's reviewed over this trial of a fic, thanks for reading!


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